Let's Ride
by VisualIDentificationZeta
Summary: HarmSinger SUMMARY: Friendship is not something that only happens to other people. Sometimes, it just sneaks up on the most unsuspecting victims. And whacks them over the head with a club. Probably the most detailed introduction into the life of a...
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Let's Go For a Ride

AUTHOR: VIDZ

PAIRING: Harm/Loren

TIMELINE: Season 5.

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc of the TV show JAG are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fic. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

WARNING: I'm not a Harley flunky. I would also like to make it clear I'm not making any of the comparisons up. I had a cruiser for 4 years and can confirm everything is as I wrote it. I've always had spine problems and let me tell you, cruisers are torture devices! Worse than Iron Maiden (the torture rack, not the band). After I switched over to sportbikes did I only realize you can actually enjoy in riding without your back and head hurting like hell and without feeling every single unevenness in the road. And you can actually turn the thing around on a single-lane road without in less than 10 minutes. :D

**Trevor**, here's one for you, man! hope you like the subject. :)

SUMMARY: Friendship is not something that only happens to other people. Sometimes, it just sneaks up on the most unsuspecting victims. And whacks them over the head with a club.

Probably the most detailed introduction into the life of a law-abiding biker most non-bikers on this site will ever get. And it even has a plot! Well, sort of... :D

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><p>It was a bright, sunny and warm Spring day as LT Loren Singer, only recent transfer to JAG HQ, strolled through the car park of her new work place, enjoying the beautiful weather, but dreading the second she'd get into her small car. Being among the junior officers in the military complex she had to fight the other masses for free parking space of the barren lot, while senior officers had their own assigned spaces, placed in the cool shade of lime trees. There was no telling just how hot and stiffling her car's interior would be. Sometimes she regretted not having gone for the convertible instead of a coupe.<p>

It was in the privileged section that something caught her eyes.

Curious at the peculiar anomaly among trucks, SUVs and sedans, she changed course and slowly approached the thing standing out like a sore thumb.

Tilting her head she considered the vehicle parked in front of her. It'd been a long time since she'd last been on the back of a motorcycle and that one had definitely not looked anything like this.

Her boyfriend had been a Harley fan and despised anything that wasn't so overly-decorated with chrome that could barely move under the power of it's own malnourished engine. He'd especially hated modern motorcycles, calling them crotch rockets, crotch-rots, plastic-fantastics, idiots, squids, etc.

To this day Loren still privately suspected he was compensating for his own defficiencies by getting that monstrosity of a bike. Especially when she remembered how many times they got stuck somewhere or had problems turning it around because of it's ridiculous size and weight and the handling and maneuverability that even an 18-wheeler could beat.

The vehicle she was admiring was the exact opposite. It was shorter, no chrome in sight (which probably made cleaning a LOT easier and faster as opposed to 6+ hours on Tom's penis-enlargment tool), instead of steel there was aluminium and plastic. It weighed probably at least half that of a regular Hog.

The sleek, slightly aggressive lines attracted her gaze and she could feel her breathing quicken. As if it had a mind of it's own, her hand drifted over and gently followed her eyes as they flowed over the tail fairing, then the banana seat, gas-tank, levers, windshield, headlight and then back.

"THIS kind of touching could easily be construed as sexual harrassement if not sexual assault." suddenly said a voice behind Loren, startling her almost out of her skin.

Whirling around she choked on her breath. She hadn't been totally oblivious to CDR Rabb since she'd entered the sanctum of non-saints, but the man standing before her was something far removed from the one in unflattering Navy uniforms.

In whatever shock borne of admiration she might've been in, she recovered swiftly at the sight of the mischevious smirk on his lips and the twinkling in his eyes.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to touch." she stuttered, to her consternation apologizing. However much she might've been affected by the leather-clad figure and the smile that was turning her knees into water, she sternly reminded herself that she had a reputation to uphold, a reputation she'd worked hard for.

"No problem." Harm shrugged it off with a smile "I knew you didn't have any ill intentions. Compared to the stories I've heard of what passers-by do to parked motorcycles, it didn't even register. I was just giving you a hard time."

Curiosity, the best ally of an investigator and the worst enemy of a cat, rose in Loren and compelled her to inquire, making her forget her decision to don back on her cold facade "Stories? Like what?"

Harm grimaced as he unlocked the bike's top case "Oh, like using the seats to snuff-out cigarettes or tie their shoes, putting their kids on parked bikes as if they owned them or letting them touch the hot exhaust cans then suing the bike owner for leaving the bike there, pouring drinks or smearing food on the bikes, keying them, damaging them in other ways, like kicking in fairings or breaking off the rear-view mirrors... some even push the bikes over out of pure envy or irrational hate. You get all sorts. I haven't had a problem since I have a garage where it spends most of it's time under lock and key, the JAG lot has armed guards and when I go somewhere I always keep an eye on it."

"And you wanted to courts-martial me for sexual harrassement..." she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.

The CDR's raised eyebrow and surprised expression made the comprimisation of her reputation well worth it

"Actually no." then he smirked devilishly "I was actually about to organize a shotgun wedding if it continued."

The unimpressed look she shot him made him chuckle.

"What is it?"

Harm looked at her oddly, then slowly answered, unsure whether she pulling one on him "It's a motorcycle."

"I know that!" she groused "What KIND of a motorcycle is it?"

Harm's eyes lightened with understanding "Oh. Ah, it's a sport-touring bike."

"I thought it was one of those plastic-fantastic crotch-rockets." Loren looked confused.

Harm sighed, by now used to it "Nah, it's not a sportbike, though it might look that way to a layman. While both types have full fairings, sport-touring bikes are made for traveling, usually two up. They're also much easier to install luggage onto them. They're also better for guys with damaged spines that had to punch out one too many times." he smiled self-deprecatingly.

"Aren't Harleys best for traveling?"

Harm snorted "Yeah, right to the first bar."

Seeing her look of incomprehension he explained "Their ergonomics are completely wrong, not to mention the designs of their frames, their obsolete suspension - it hasn't been changed since the 1950's... On most Harleys the body position is completely wrong for any longer traveling... some have rider's feet and arms flung far forward, forcing the body into an unnatural C shape, doing horrors to the rider's back; while the most that don't have such an aggressive position, they still have foot-pegs too far in front, which results in the rider's spine being perpendicular to the road. The result is that you feel every pot-hole, every bit of uneven surface because it sends a sharp pain directly up your spine into your brain and back again. Then throw the brutal vibrations of the big twins into the mix, especially noticeable in the handle-bars which make your arms and shoulders suffer... and the noise from the 'mandatory' open cans that's powerful enough to give you a headache and make your brain vibrate in your skull... Then there are also the "ape-hangers", the very high handlebars that are just torture on your shoulders, but are very loved among the Harley crowd because they think it makes them look cool."

"And that's not the case with these bikes?" she inquired, now understanding why Tom used to have back- and head-aches after rides.

"The position is surprisingly comfortable _once you get used to it_. Your legs are bent directly beneath your six so they act like shock absorbers, absorbing most of the bumps, preventing them from sending up that pain I mentioned, and since you're bent slightly forward instead of straight up, the spine isn't forcefully compressed everytime you hit a bump. The inline-4 engine operates much more smoothly than a V2, with very little vibration, so it's easier on the arms and body in general. You can actually put a full coffee cup on the seat and it won't spill over, much less fall off. And that's not a figure of speech, but a proven fact. You don't want to try that with a cruiser. It's also much quieter, so better on the hearing and friendlier to the environment and people nearby."

"Don't your wrists suffer? From here it looks like you're leaning your entire upper body weight on them..."

"Not if you do it correctly. The trick is to keep your body in position using your core... chest, abdominal and thigh muscles. If you're leaning on your wrists then you're doing it wrong. There's also minimal wind-buffeting because of the aerodynamics of the bike and the windshield. Both, especially the aerodynamics, don't exist in cruiser rider vocabulary."

"You don't seem to have a high opinion of cruisers..." Loren tried cautiously, wondering whether she had finally found a personality flaw in the adored Commander Rabb, but careful not to offend a superior officer. Not when she was just finding out that maybe he was human after all.

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><p><strong>Reviews are love.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

My friends, action is needed against something that threatens social networks, from fanfiction. net to facebook, twitter, youtube, google+, etc. and even various forums, not just US based, but world-wide as well.

It's called SOPA or "Stop Online Piracy Act", also known under the name "Internet Blacklist Bill" that would give US authorities the power to shut down websites **both domestic and foreign**, which would make website owners responsible for the content put up by users. This would most probably push fanfiction out of it's comfy gray area into black as it clearly infringes on copyright, but until now we've been left in peace. It's backed by the ever greedy movie and music industry and specifically targets websites that rely on user-generated content.

According to the Bill, the owner of a website would be legally responsible for anything that a member put up and the owners would thus be sued. Which could lead to websites going down en masse in order to avoid being sued for copyright infringment, including fanfiction. net. I don't need to point out that this threatens not only our freedom of speech, but also freedom of expression and freedom of connecting with like minded people, as various forums would be affected as well. The extent of censorship this Bill would allow is horrific.

Here you can find out more:

www. guardian. co. uk/technology/2011/nov/16/sopa-condemned-internet-blacklist-bill

**Petition against it:**

**act. demandprogress. org/letter/pipa_house/ ? akid = 970. 52388. dZCWGa & rd = 1 & t = 2**

If for some reason either of these two links don't work, please shoot me an email on:

visualid_zeta yahoo. co. uk

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Now that that nasty order of business is done, we can get back to more pleasant stuff. In last chapter I promised pictures to illustrate the differences in poses on different styles of motorcycles and how they affect comfort of the rider.

All pictures were used without premission from owners and none were taken by me.

**After you copy-pasted the link, don't forget to delete the empty spaces right after every dot.** Same as in the previous section in regards to nonworking links.

**Harley V-rod**, the only motorcycle with modern technology in the HD line-up. That's because they asked the Germans to design **and produce** a pretty big part of the bike, including the engine, the heart of the bike - the reason why it works so well. Thus, the engines were designed and are produced by the German car manufacturer Porsche, then delivered to HD. It was introduced in 2001, thus HD stagnated for well over 40 years in technology. The red arrows indicate the forces that are aimed at the rider's very curved spine and the lower arrow indicates from where the hits of bumps would go. You can imagine the effects these hits would have with the spine in that position and protected by nothing but cruiser shocks with very short travel... From experience I can honestly say it's not pleasant.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/vrod. jpg

**Typical cruiser position, **in this case on a Harley Davidson, not sure whether it's a Road King or a Electra Glide, because I forgot to note it. :( Anyway, please note the complete exposure of the entire spine to hits from potholes and bumps. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a picture taken at 90 degree of someone sitting on their bike. This was the best I could find and it's far from 90 degree, looks more like 120 degree and the problem is that the rider in question was twisting his body to face the camera, which would've been plainly obvious had I not blotted out his face for legal reasons.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/cruiserposition. jpg

The **ape hangers** I was talking about. Imagine having to be in that position for over a minute... This is one of the extreme cases of ape hangers that the rider in question has to have his feet back on the passenger footpegs to even be able to hold on. In the case of this rider, this photo could also be used to illustrate a motorcycle squid, with his complete lack of safety gear.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/apehangers. jpg

**Typical** **sport-touring motorcycle position**, in this case a Triumph Spring ST 955, generation year 1999-2004. With full fairings and in this case a top-case. Please notice how the rider (in this case a female rider) is leaning forward, thereby eliminating any hits to the spine. The weird red criss-crossy thing with a vertical line between the posterior and the feet was my pathetic attempt at indicating a spring and a shock absorber, as the bent knees and feet under the butt create an effective shock absorber effect. The rider of such a bike won't feel the hits of pothols and bumps as pain in their spine.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/tourerposition. jpg

**And last two pictures**, again a Sprint ST, but in this case the exact bike I had in mind for Harm... a top case and two side-cases. One of the best bikes in it's class, competitor of Honda VFR 800. Actually many argue that it's a very equal competitor to Honda, but with it's much friendlier price-tag, equal reliability, geometry and frame better suited for poor roads (as it's original market was the UK) and the sound of the inline-3 engine (that makes me drool as if I have rabies), it takes the throne as the best middle-weight sport touring motorcycle.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/stGreen. jpg

And this is an alternate colour, that I like very much.

i1186. photobucket. com/albums/z373/cycle_master/comparison/stBlue. jpg

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Harm sighed, then rubbed his hand over his face "True, there are other brands that offer products of the comparable or higher quality with more features and better reliability at much lower prices and who's bikes don't develop the Harley Death Wobble - which has caused fatalities even at normal riding, but my low opinion is not so much centered on the bikes as much as it is on the crowd that buys them. Too many ride them because they either buy into the image that Harley sells quite masterfully, or because owning a Harley is a matter of prestige or just because they like posing in front of Starbucks. True, I've met a few nice Harley guys, but they were in minority. Especially when they saw I was riding a modern motorcycle."

"You talk as if that kind of behaviour is limited only to them."

"It's not, but while there is certainly strife between the various communities, the two other groups with predominantly snobbish riders are Ducati and BMW riders. it's Harley riders that are usually hostile towards anything that's not a Harley, it's almost them against the rest of the bikers. And don't get me started on their safety-awareness. Cruiser riders are the only breed, except for squids, that put more worth on image and posing than on safety. You hardly see any of them with a helmet, unless they're forced into it. And if they actually do have a helmet, it's either the skull-cap that covers only the top of the head, leaving everything exposed, even ears, or one of those open/jet helmets."

"I'm sure there are plenty of other riders who go without anything."

"Yes, those are the squids. Unless you're in Florida or another state that doesn't have a helmet law, then most of the bikers you see are conscious about their safety and less concerned with other things. Unless, as said they're posers/squids. When I was in Pensacola to get requalified last year, very rarely did I see anyone wearing more than flip-flops and swim-suit on a bike. To make the whole thing even more tragic, some had helmets, but they were hanging off side of the bike from the helmet clip instead of sitting on their heads."

"So, which breed of bikers is the most conscious about safety?"

"I'd say track riders... they're guys that ride their sport-bikes, whom they call "track whores", on race tracks, either as professionals, amateurs or occasional track-day visitors. They spend incredible amounts of money on safety gear and better-riding courses. These are the guys that will shell out over 200 bucks for gloves or 400 on boots or 1000 on a leather one piece suit. Partly because of their own safety and partly because of the very strict track rules regarding gear. It's interesting to note that they're also the least brand-loyal bunch of the entire biking world... they're always looking for the best, the fastest, the safest, the newest, the latest break-through and don't care which brand it is from."

"You seem to know a lot about bikes. Is this info dependable or are you simply full of hot air?" Loren glared up at him suspiciously.

Harm smiled appreciatively at her sharp mind "I've done a lot of research since I started riding again 5 years ago."

"There was a time you didn't?"

"Yes, I didn't for a number of years." Harm answered cautiously, not willing to go into the whole ramp strike and rehabilitation thing with something he'd only known for a few months.

The wistful look in her eyes didn't escape Harm and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what it meant.

"Have you been on one of these before?"

The question seemed to break through the cloud she was in because she blinked and remarked "Excuse me?"

Deciding that had she wanted him to know what she'd been thinking of, she would tell him, so he just patted the seat of the bike "Have you been on one of these before?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Harm sighed, this was almost like talking to Mac - never getting an answer, only getting another question in return.

"I was just curious."

"Oh."

After a minute of silent blinking up at him, Harm repeated "Well?"

"Yes, I have... over a decade ago." she answered slowly, hardly willing to go into those memories "A guy I was dating had a Harley."

"Ah." Harm nodded. He found nothing else to say, neither did Loren, she just stood there, looking at his bike, but not seeing anything, deep in her own mind.

He knew he could no longer put if off, they were attracting unwelcome attention and he really wanted to get off the premises, so he said his goodbyes.

"Well, Lieutenant, it was nice talking to you, but it's been a long day and I really wanna get home. I'll see you tomorrow."

Loren shot him a suspicious look, trying to figure out whether he was making fun of her, but was stupefied/stymied to realize he'd actually meant his words about enjoying their talk.

The surprise over the sincerity of them was felt by both parties, though. Harm barely hid the shock he experienced when he realized he was telling the truth. For the first time in the months he'd known the younger woman, he had actually enjoyed their conversation and, more importantly, her company. No matter how short it'd been.

It hadn't been so much the topic that was close to his heart, but because of the complete and utter lack of combativeness or competitiveness. She'd actually been _normal. _ Their talk had been easy and companionable and he'd greatly enjoyed conversing with her like one normal human being to another. It made him wish this wouldn't be the last time they did in such a friendly manner.

But the work had been slow and exhausting and he'd had another strife with Mac, who was behaving increasingly more erratic, so his body's desire to get home and get some rest was too strong to resist anymore.

Loren returned the farewells, but for some reason stayed as he got ready.

Making sure everything was firmly fixed on his body and the luggage securely closed, Harm sat on the bike, lifted it off the side-stand, nudged the stand in it's secured position and put the key in the ignition.

Turning it to ON, he was greeted with the familiar whine of the gas pump priming as the analogue RPM-counter and speed needles, in it's standard pre-start check, climbed to the redline and then sank back to zero, while the digital screen containing the ODO-meter, etc. reset itself.

Once everything was ready he pulled in the clutch lever, put the bike in neutral and pressed the engine start button on the right-hand controls.

Loren observed with interest as CDR Rabb got ready, remembering how Tom, she and their friends had always made fun of the folks riding around dressed like Power Rangers. It certainly took a long time to leave this way and she wondered whether it was all truly necessary.

When the man started the bike, the young Lieutenant could feel her pulse speed up for a second, then settle again, as the machine came to life with a throaty growl.

The CDR then turned to her and nodded one last time. For some reason she felt compelled to smile slightly and wave, which must've been a good decision, because by the shift of the lines around his eyes she could see he smiled back. Then he put the bike in gear and slowly maneuvered the parking lot towards the exit check-point where he was soon done and vanished down the road.

Loren continued to stand there, staring at the spot he'd disappeared for long after he was gone, memories and conflicting emotions warring within her.

When she finally moved, it was with a slow, preoccupied trudge towards her car at the end of the parking lot.

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As the weather continued to improve so did the frequency of the CDR commuting to work on his motorcycle. It was slightly unnerving to her, but Loren never failed to notice when he left his car at home.

More than once did she find herself standing in the lot, just moving her eyes over the small vehicle as thoughts buzzed inside her head like angry wasps.

It was for the same reason that she caught herself time and again observing the man as well. She could try, but there was no denying it that the day in the parking lot had changed the way she saw him.

While before he had been that snobby officer, too uptight and superior for Loren's blood pressure, she now saw him as a normal person. He was no Superman as others tried to potray him, nor did she now feel he had any other complexes, God or Peter Pan. He was an ordinary man, with faults and strengths and wishes and desires and passions of his own.

He took pleasure in simple things... Er, if one could call a highly complex 38 million dollar aircraft a simple thing, of course...

But, the right topic of conversation, for example motorcycles, never failed to breathe some life into his handsome features. And, yes, Loren _had_ now notice their attractiveness. Their conversation was the first time she'd seen him smile in the months she'd been at JAG and he had a nice smile, one that truly transformed him into a human from that frozen mask of a poster boy.

Whenever she saw him ride into or out of the parking lot she felt a yearning tug at the strings of her heart. Her soul suddenly had an emptiness, a painful hole everytime she heard that low growl of an engine at low RPM.

Her tiny Puma was a fun car, but it was no motorcycle. Not that she'd ever driven a motorcycle, being the passenger was enough for her. One of the contributing reasons to her like of bikes was the rare chance to just turn her brain off, sit in the back without having to do anything and just enjoy herself.

At 30 years of age she'd thought she'd put her "wild" youth behind, but it was now seemingly starting to catch up, because whenever she heard the Commander's beast her head seemed to be on autopilot, quickly turning to locate the vehicle in question and follow it's progress with her eyes.

It took 14 days of self-torture before her last reserve crumbled and she gave in to her heart.

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**Reviews are love.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Highly suggested viewing to understand what I'll be talking about:**

**Keith Code's "Twist of the Wrist II" DVD.** While this instructional video, some even say it's the best video of it's kind, is focused mainly on sport bikes, it also offers plenty of information that can be used on other bikes as well (like on the Triumph Harm has) and was filmed in the way so that even newcomers to biking would understand. They even used a cow of a bike, Harley Road King, to showcase some of the points they made. If you want to know how and where to get it, shoot me a PM.

In this chapter I'm taking liberties with some timelines.

This fic takes place in Spring 2000, but because it's partial mission is to educate, I'm using information that's available now, but wasn't then.

The Motorcyclist magazine article mentioned was published about 2004-2005, IIRC. It was called "Blowing the lid off", but for some reason has recently disappeared off their website. Have absolutely no clue why, because it was the best article with the most reliable results that could be found. **BUT I have found a archived version of it in PDF **(Adobe Acrobat Reader) format and **if anyone is interested in reading it, just shoot me an email on: visualid_zeta yahoo. co. uk**

Brittany Morrow had her experience that changed her life and made her decide to start educating squids and their passengers, in 2005. Her experience just showcases how much responsibility a rider takes on when taking on a passenger, even if the rider is too immature or irresponsible to realize/acknowledge that.

I hope I'm not overwhelming you guys with so much information so quickly, but there is a LOT more to motorcycling than non-riders usually imagine. I won't be going in-depth on how to get your own license (for that please contact your local MSF - Motorcycle Safety Foundation, for their riding courses, I've been told that in some states/cities they even have these courses for free, but not sure whether this info is reliable), but will be dealing more from the aspect of a rider who already rides and from a passenger who is only getting into this.

Heartfelt thanks to **byrhthelm, robertwnielsen, liferscove2118, Lynnp, Michi uk and carolfd **for taking the time to review.

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Honestly said, Harm was a little surprised when he arrived to his bike to find the newest transfer again standing there. To his confusion, this time she wasn't admiring the bike, but was seemingly waiting for him.

His eyebrows rose as he tried to recover with a quip.

"We gotta stop meeting like this or people will talk."

Harm's confusion turned into slow dread when his joke provoked only a forced, sickly-looking up-turning of lips.

Worry starting to nag at him he unlocked the top case and stowed his atache case and duffle bag inside, then leaned closer, trying to search her eyes. The shutters were firmly closed, however, and he only came up with a blank.

"How can I help you?"

"Do you..." she started, then stopped and bit her lower lip in apprehension. Finally she inhaled, straightened her shoulders and ploughed on "Do you go on trips with it?"

"With what?" Harm asked, in only half-comprehension "The bike?"

"Yeah, the bike." Loren nodded jerkily, only deepening Harm's confusion over such a grossly uncharacteristic behaviour. Were Harm Bud, he would've been contemplating aliens and pod-people at this point.

"Yeah, of course. If I can manage it, I do a day trip every weekend. Why?"

"Well... uh... I'm just asking, cause... uh... Would you..." Loren bit her lip in indecision as courage left her almost like hot air leaves a punctured balloon. Seeming to weigh what she was about to ask Harm waited patiently for her to regain her courage.

"Would you take me with you when you go for a ride?"

With her hesitation and the fact the previous question had given him a vague feeling what this was about, Harm had expected the question and could nod slowly "Sure, I don't see why not. We may be stretching the regs a bit, but it would be no worse than an evening with Mac or Bud and I've done plenty of those."

Then he asked cautiously "Do you have gear?"

Loren paused, trying to remember whether she had thrown it all away or kept it after she and Tom had broken up.

"I'll have to look, but I think I might find something."

Harm shook his head emphatically "If you really want to ride with me, make sure you do have gear and all of it. I'm not taking a passenger that isn't completely protected."

That gave her pause. _Why is he so concerned about gear? It was never a matter of discussion with Tom... As a matter of fact, he liked it when all I had were jeans and a tank-top. _

Then came the part that stunned her, shocked her to the core and yanked the rug right out from underneath her.

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

_ME? He doesn't want anything to happen to ME? The Ice Queen, the one everyone hates? He actually cares whether I live or die?_

But the words that came out of her mouth were of a completely different type "All?"

Harm nodded and leaned against his bike, then extended his hand and started counting off fingers "First off, helmet. Best is a full-face helmet, it will protect you from everything, from bugs to pavement. Recently the Motorcyclist magazine in conjunction with the world's greatest head injury and helmet safety experts did a big safety test of helmets, I can lend you the copy so you can read the article and make your choice. Then jacket and pants. Leather offers the best protection, but is more expensive. Textile-based gear, made from Cordura for example, is cheaper, but doesn't protect as much and fits much looser than leather. Tigther fit is best so you don't get burns from that clothing if you roll down the road. Most of the gear brands have a line of clothing that is made with both leather and Cordura, which is a pretty good compromise. It's essential to get clothes that have ECE protectors already built-in, knees, hips, elbows, shoulders and back being the most important. Next are some good boots that reach most of the way up the calf, because if you go down with anything that comes up only to the ankle you're in danger of losing your feet. Gloves are just as important as the rest as it's an instinctive reaction to try to protect yourself with your hands, you don't wanna get caught out without them. There's also the back-protector to help avoid injury of the spine."

"That's a lot of stuff." Loren said hesitantly, her mind already calculating the costs and not liking the final number.

"No-one ever said motorcycling is an inexpensive sport." Harm grimaced and then sighed, looking at her solemnly "So you need to be really sure you want this before you commit yourself. You _can_ be stingy and compromise, go with jeans instead of real trousers or shoes instead of boots, and so on, but not only will you have to find someone else to ride with, in the case of a crash you'll wish you were dressed like a tank. Good gear is a LOT cheaper than medical bills."

All this talk was making Loren uncomfortable and a bit distrustful. How do you trust a rider to keep you safe when all he talks about is crashing?

"Why are you fixated on crashing so much? Are you so certain it will happen?"

Harm's expression darkened immediately as he replied, tone deadly serious "Dress for the crash, not for the ride. **ATGATT. All The Gear All The Time**. You never know when it'll happen and it's enough it happens that one time you decided not to ride in full gear."

"But it's so hot in all that stuff in summer! And from what I've seen, nothing they have would look good on me!" Loren complained, pouting slightly.

Disapproval blinked in Harm's eyes as she used the two excuses used almost exclusively by squids who refused to wear safety gear, the latter used almost exclusively by female squids.

"If it's too hot for full gear, then it's too hot for riding, period." he stated firmly, brooking no protest "And with the wide selection of clothes even for women there is no doubt you'd be able to find something to your liking and that will look good on you. But, in any case, go on the internet and search for "road rash queen", "Brittany Morrow" and "RockTheGear DOT Org", you'll see why I'm so insistent."

Loren nodded, making a mental note to immediately fire up her computer once she got home, before her eyes widened with at an idea.

"I think I may have some leather jeans still somewhere, not sure, will have to look. And I know I have combat boots."

Harm sighed "Better than nothing, I guess, for the first ride so you can decide whether you want it or not. So, you need to get a jacket, a helmet and gloves. That's a minimum for the immediate requirement. I have some old gear, all uncrashed, but unfortunately it wouldn't fit you."

"Still a lot." Loren sighed.

"Yes, it is, but think it this way: if you were an aviator, would the Air Boss let you into the air wearing a swim suit instead of the G-suit and the rest of the flight gear?"

"I guess not." she had to admit.

"Damn right he wouldn't. Just think of me as the Air Boss." Harm stated, then his visage softened as he observed the young woman before him, so obviously desiring this. Yet, he wanted her to think this through, make an informed decision and not rush into anything.

"Just take your time and decide what you want to do, _if_ you really want to do this. I'll be here. After all I work here." he tried for an attempt at levity and was gratified to see her lips quirk "If you decide on "yes", I'll help you find the right gear and advise you all the way, you won't have to wade through it yourself. And if I won't know an answer to a question, I'll find an expert who will."

"Thanks." Loren nodded, obviously deep in thought. Seeing Harm was about to get ready she moved away to give him space.

Once he was on the bike, she caught his attention "Thanks for the talk and all the information. As you said, I'll have to think this through and do some math. I'll let you know how I decided."

"You do that." Harm's helmeted head nodded "I'll be right here. See ya' tomorrow."

A minute later Loren was again watching him disappear down the road away from the checkpoint and wondered whether there would come a day she wouldn't have to stay behind and watch him drive off and instead be right there on the bike with him.

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**Reviews are love.**


	4. Chapter 4

This one is really, really late, but it couldn't be helped. :(

I've been trying to treat an annoying niggle at the back of my throat and a stuffed nose, but the best I've been managing is a draw. Hopefully Christmas won't be spent in sick-bed for me. That would suck.

My motorcycling background is one 16 years long, I've ridden everything from vespas, cruisers, dual sports to large luxury touring bikes (Goldwing), naked bikes and streetfighters to sportbikes (which ironically turned out as best for my bad back); from bikes as old as over 50 years to brand new, so I'm not selling you smoke. :D

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**Valentino Rossi** on riding motorcycles on the street in the 2002 documentary _**Faster:**_

_"I like to ride the bike on the street, I have a CBR and I always ride. But it's better... need to spend every time concentrated when you ride. Because is dangerous. __**Dangerous not only you, but all the fucking idiot riders in the cars, because don't... er... don't look at the bike. **__Because with a car, you're bigger than the bike, so no problem."_

_._

90 minutes later, after a nice shower and with a cup of coffee in hand Loren was manipulating her mouse to open an internet browser window. Using her favorite search engine she typed in the words Harm had instructed and pressed Enter. Eyes widening at the number of hits she scrolled down and clicked on the most promising link. Quickly reading through the story the woman told and looking at the photos she thought she was going to be sick.

Not just at what the protagonist had gone through, but at the thought of what could've happened to _her_ those times she'd been happily riding on Tom's Hog without even a helmet on her head. Anger suffused her at how unconcerned he'd been over her health and safety, letting her ride with no protection, but then she remembered he hadn't worn any either. Neither had any of his friends and their passengers.

The most they'd used had been leather vests and fingerless gloves, but those had been fashion items, as they wouldn't protect from even a tiny pebble, much less the hard, rough, unforgiving pavement. Sure, she had later bought herself leather jeans, but because of how amazingly her butt had looked in them. Their usual gear had been denim jeans, T-shirts, bandanas, shades and the afore-mentioned gloves and vests. She shuddered to think what would've happened to them had they gone down, at least Brittany had had a helmet and that had saved her.

Crashing with a Harley at 80 mph hurts no less than crashing at the same speed with a sport-bike. Actually, usually it even hurts more, because sportbike riders are generally better protected and more safety-aware than Harley riders, not to mention the bigger weight, more dangerous shape and the materials of the Harley compared to a sportbike, that would do some damage as well.

Just like in the case of Brittany, she as an uneducated party had relied on another uneducated party to keep her safe. A blind leading a blind.

Next she searched for "squid + motorcycles". The result was pretty interesting:

**"squid: **(slang, motorcycling, pejorative) A motorcyclist characterized by lack of riding gear, reckless/careless/unsafe riding, especially of sport bikers."

Doing a further search she found out that the reason squid was in use for sport bikers was only because the sportbike community itself used it to oust that type of undesirable riders from amongst themselves.

In fact, one of the prevalent theories was that the term squid came from Stupid, Quick, Under-dressed/geared, Idiotic, Dead; which has no bike-type dependency.

Plus, the definition "A motorcyclist characterized by lack of riding gear, reckless/careless/unsafe riding" could clearly be applied to any other type of rider.

It could easily be applied to Tom and his friends and, thinking about all the cruiser riders she'd ever seen, she ascertained they could easily be marked as the biggest squid community of all. She had hardly ever seen a Harley or other cruiser/chopper rider geared up as much as other style riders were, since the only thing they usually wore was what Tom and the his buddies had worn.

Cruiser riders were also the majority at any protest against helmet laws.

While Loren believed everyone had the right to choose to be stupid (after all, that's how the natural selection works and less stupid people, the better...), she also believed their argument about helmets being useless as invalid. No thanks to Tom, this was the Navy training talking where the importance of helmets to protect against shrapnels and every other stuff with a tendency to ruin a person's afternoon was carefully drilled into every recruit's head from day one.

In fact, there was a large percentage of cruiser riders claiming that helmets don't provide any safety at all, that it was just government conspiracy... *

Another strange anomaly was the... apprehension (to put it mildly)... that cruiser riders held towards front brakes. Instead most of them used rear brakes, even thouse they have only half the stopping power of fronts and also have the tendency of locking up, thus negating whatever stopping power they have in the first place, and bringing about the strong danger of crashing.

Abandoning that venue she decided to find out as much as she could about sport-touring. The first definition was basically what Harm had told her: these are bikes that blend sportbike performance (not really, their owners just like to live in this delusion) with the long-distance capability of touring motorcycles, adding comfort and safety.

From her layman's viewpoint it came as no surprise they originated from sportbikes, because she had truthfully thought they _were_ sportbikes. Since she'd never before had a reason to do any sort of research on this field she immediately had to ask herself: how many of the riders and bikes she'd seen over the decades had truly been sport bikers and how many had been sport-tourers.

Tom and his friends had derisively marked riders of anything that wasn't a Harley as squids, crotch-rocket cowboys, crotch-rots, rice-burners and other derogatory names. They hadn't even spared riders of Japanese built cruiser motorcycles. Now that she thought about it, they'd hated and ridiculed everything that wasn't a Harley, for some reason believing they were superior to the rest.

She'd even heard them say that other riders hate Harley out of envy, because they're too poor to afford them themselves. Now, upon reflection afforded by time, Loren wondered whether the antipathy of other riders towards Harley had more to do with the superior and derisive attitude of Harley riders towards them than anything else.

Which brought to mind another question: just how fragmented WAS the biker community?

Well, there was only one way to find out...

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Three hours later Loren's head was spinning from information overload. It was a whole another world she'd never had even an inkling of before.

There were hundreds of thousands of bikers online and thousands of different forums, ranging from poser-forums who had bikes only as bling and to show off with or to pick up women; to serious track-oriented forums with riders who had immense riding knowledge, backed-up by solid mechanic skills and experience as they worked on their own bikes.

The most diverse communities were without a doubt dual-sport, off-road and sportbike riders.

They comprised everything from fanatical offroad and "adventure" riders to supermoto (for dual-sport and off-road communities), and track riders among sportbike riders (their bikes sometimes being called "track whores" by their owners/riders), to moderate riders who's bikes only ever saw the weekly or montly trip up and down some roads, to stunters and posers, whose bikes never saw any real riding, just to the nearest showing-off spot, if that. Squids could of course be found in every part of this diverse world.

The term "squid" in the vocabulary of the online community did not encompass only the riders embodying the narrowest description, thus not only limited to gearless riders, but dangerous riders in general - those who overestimated their own abilities and skill, drove recklessly and too fast, had the bike only to be noticed...

Squids were the ones usually most apparent everywhere you went because they worked hard on being noticed, either by riding without protective gear (their faces of course have to be plainly seen so you know who's that cool), or showing off (usually with stupid stunts in traffic), or riding their bikes only to bike nights or to Starbucks to pose there, with the preferred result of picking up girls, that for some reason were among other bikers called Curb Monkeys. As much as Loren tried to ignore it, she had been a Cub Monkey herself a life ago.

Sturgis, Daytona and other Bike Weeks were viewed as squid fests and avoided by everyone else.

By general consensus of the rest of the community, stunters were counted among squids. Probably the worst squids since they usually wore no gear (unless you count bandanas and shades as safety gear), performed risky and dangerous maneuvers, all too often on public roads in traffic.

Squids are usually the ones to whom the entire sport-bike community can thank for it's horribly unfavourable image, intolerance, misunderstanding and sometimes outright annoyance and even hate among "regular civilians". Sadly, when road rage takes over a cager, the day ends tragically for the biker.

Squids, in turn, hated other riders and cagers with equal passion and contempt, for being boring, old, unimaginative, cramping their (squids') style, while having none of their own, etc..

Cagers are what riders call car drivers because of the protective cage of the car's safety design.

To make matters even more complicated, there was fragmentation even within communties to brand-based factions and even model-based factions. Sometimes even on factions based on displacement within a brand and model faction.

Completely baffled, Loren leaned back in her chair, her mind spinning.

This was even worse than the British Army's tribalism! * *

Yet, the thing was, apart from an occasional flame war by hotheaded extremists, these fragmentations were only mild and didn't have any real substance or importance when various factions' members inhabited the same space, either virtual or physical.

Except for the squid and Harley vs. rest of the community, of course. Even more, when a member of the entire community was unjustly threatened by outsiders, for example on the road by cagers, members of the community who cared, stood up for him no matter what faction he and they belonged to.

Yet, if a member did something irresponsible, endangered innocents, be they cagers, pedestrians or other riders; or did something stupid, like block off a road to perform idiotic stunts in traffic, or just did something to worse the already-bad biker image, the responsible maturity had no problem calling that rider or group out.

As annoyed as the rest of the population at the merest sight of them is, the fact still remains that motorcyclists are people just like everybody else. They're fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, friends. They have jobs, or are still in school, just like everybody else.

They stand out from the rest of the population only by having a different kind of hobby... this love, passion, for motorcycle riding and only when they are on their bikes. When they're not, when they're commuting to work or taking kids to school, you won't know them from the rest.

But it's this individualism that leaves them wide open to prosecution and makes them vulnerable. There've been plenty of cases of cagers killing riders due to negligence, not to mention road-rage, and not even getting a ticket and if a rider manages to survive a crash with a car or an even bigger vehicle, the police will _always_ work on the assumption it was the rider's fault, most of the time not even trying to dig deeper to find out if that's true and sometimes even ignoring the obvious clues/evidence that point out he was the victim.

Only very few countries in the world, for example Austria, have this situation sorted out fairly with laws, beside to having police that is extremely fair and impartial. * * *

The system works, but only in a few specific countries because it's based on something that is lacking most everywhere else: tolerance on the road - a high driver culture, a high culture n general, excellent driver education starting in school, in driving schools putting special attention on consideration, attention, tolerance and carefulness towards other road users, excellent laws more geared towards educating that producing revenue...

Reading her way through all the information Loren then arrived to the part with gear and safety. Noticing some of the stuff was not only safe but looked good, she was intrigued and quickly lost track of time.

She finally shut her computer down with no idea there was a man several miles away who was doing his own research for her.

No matter how much he distrusted computers.

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* AN: unfortunately people CAN be that stupid. They regularly have protests, etc. At one such protest this year (forgot whether it was in NY or DC) they were riding in a big circle (god-knows why, but it probably made sense in their confused and/or drunk minds) as part of the protest when one of them suddenly applied brakes, probably from panic (cruiser rides don't know how to use front brakes, they see them as the Devil's invention), locked the rear brake, it wiped him out, crashed at 10 mph and smashed open his head on the pavement, dying right there. Coroner's conclusion: had he worn a helmet he would've lived... Yet, it still doesn't get through to them, even though logic itself tells you that if there's something properly soft between your head and the pavement (EPS liner ofthe helmet), you'll be better off compared there being nothing.

* * AN: if you want to know more about that, ask byrhthelm and be prepared to laugh your butt off.

* * * AN: I'm not an Austrian, but have a first-hand experience with the Austrian police and was amazed at how objective and fair they are.

**Reviews are love.**


	5. Chapter 5

I just found out a guy I knew, liked and respected immensely, the star of Youtube motorcycle vlogging (similar to blogging, but it's medium are videos not text), a man with true class and a fantastic sense of humor, has recently passed away way too early aged just 30, leaving behind a grieving family and thousands of friends who'll never forget him.

Steven "Svengalie" Love, you will be missed. Keep the throttle open, my friend, and your eyes on that beautiful curvy trail in the sky.

www. youtube. com/user/svengalie

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That Saturday's slow morning found Loren Singer dressed in her shabbiest outfit as she cleaned her small apartment. The usually impeccably groomed officer was wearing an old pair of sweatpants, ratty to the point of being torn in a couple of places; a generic blue T-shirt that was 3 sizes too big on her small frame, slippers and an old scarf to keep her spun-gold hair out of her face.

What most people considered as an annoying chore, Loren found relaxing as the simple work and mechanical, repetitive movements helped her unwind after a long stressful week. An added bonus to that was that the results were immediately visible and tangible, unlike boring paperwork of which there was no end.

No music disturbed the serenity, only the sound of brushes and cloth as they swept away the dust as the warm Spring sun was sending it's yellow rays through the open windows. Occasionally Loren would stop her work just to bask in the light and the warmth after a long, cold, dark winter.

The peace and quiet Loren was enjoying so much was suddenly rudely interrupted by the harsh ringing of her cellphone, making the blond LT jump startled.

Once she'd recovered from her sudden fright she crossed her living room to where the offending object was threatening to vibrate itself off the armoire and rescued it just in time.

She frowned at the unfamiliar number on the display, then, guessing it had be something to do with work since there was no other reason why anyone would call her (she was aware of just how pathetic other people considered this, but she didn't mind), she picked up.

"Singer."

"Lieutenant, this is Rabb." announced the tinny voice on the other end of the line.

The frown deeped into an unpleased scowl at the only reason he could call "Am I needed at JAG, sir?"

Even just the prospect of that was threatening to ruin her good disposition.

"Actually, no. Sorry, didn't mean to alert you." was his answer, that relaxed her suddenly tensed shoulder, but deepened her confusion.

"Then why _are_ you calling me, sir?"

"Actually, I was calling to find out if you've decided? You know, about us riding together."

Taking a deep breat to settle the butterflies in her stomach, Loren clutched the receiver stronger as she replied "I've mostly decided, but I need a couple of answers from you to completely make up my mind."

"Go ahead." Harm replied, glad for his caution that always demanded of him to stop the car if he received a call or called himself. This obviously wasn't going to be as short a call as he'd expected.

"Well, sir, what I would like to know is if your offer is just a one-time thing or at least a medium-term arrangement. I hope you can understand my reluctance over spending such an amount of money on something that would only happen one or twice. I don't know anyone else with a motorcycle, which would excuse such an expenditure."

Harm hmm-ed in agreement and confirmation he'd understood. He paused for a second to gather his thoughts before he finally replied.

"All I can say is this, Lieutenant, if you follow my instructions on the bike so we have safe and pleasant trips, you're welcome as my back-seater as long as you wish or for as long as we're both stationed near each other."

"But what if you get married and she won't like this arrangement?"

Harm snorted, then recovered "That's not likely to happen, don't worry."

"But what if it happens?" Loren insisted.

Harm sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't really have to think about it.

"I gave you my word and I keep my promises. If I somehow end up in a relationship, she'll just have to accept the fact that I have friends, even female friends, and that any and all promises pre-dating our relationship take priority. If she won't be able to accept that, then she won't be the right person for me."

There was a short silence on the other end of the line that prompted him to ask "That all?"

"Actually no." Loren replied sheepishly "I know I don't have the right to set conditions, since _you're_ doing _me_ a favor, but this is important to me."

"Go ahead." Harm prompted curious as to what could've been so important.

"I want you to promise you'll obey speed limits at all times, won't drive recklessly or dangerously, will stop if I..."

Raising a hand even though Loren couldn't see it, Harm stopped her flood of conditions "I wouldn't need to promise to uphold these terms, because putting you in danger, upsetting you or robbing you of enjoyment is the last thing I'd do. But, if it makes you feel better, I promise to operate the vehicle with your safety and enjoyment first and foremost in my mind."

"Thank you." uttered Loren on a whoosh of released breath "I just don't like speed."

"You don't have to explain yourself, Lieutenant, I understand where you're coming from. Is there anything else you need to ask me before you decide?"

"No." Loren shook her head, then repeated "No, that's it. And, yes, I would very much like to go on trips with you."

Harm smiled "I'm glad to hear that because as enjoyable as riding is it can get lonely sometimes."

And if anyone, LT Loren Singer was definitely the person to liven it up and make it interesting.

"Anyway, as to the other reason I called. I was just by the store I bought my gear from and noticed they have a big sale of last year's models, some even up to 60 percent off."

"Really? Where is it?" Loren's husky voice was enlivened by the obvious interest she felt at the news.

"It's about 15 minutes from where I live. Look, it's only 1000 and they're open late into the afternoon. I'll go have that talk with the Admiral now and when I'm done I'll come pick you up and we'll go over there."

Harm knew why he was putting it as a statement instead of an offer. If they took his car there would be no issues that come with one car following another through the heavy traffic of the nation's capitol, it's streets riddled with traffic lights that seem to change every 2 seconds. Beside the fact that there would be no danger of Loren losing sight of him and/or getting stuck at a red light, he could advise her on her choices, thus excluding the sales-people who have their own agendas, even in bike stores. Besides, his car was bigger and would have no problem storing everything even if she got everything new and he could help her carry everything up to her apartment.

Fortunately, he didn't have to explain his reasoning, because these were the thoughts that ran through her mind as well.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck with the Admiral."

Harm smiled humourlessly "Here's hoping he doesn't throw us in jail and tosses away the key."

"My thoughts exactly."

A minute later as she stood staring at the silent apparatus laying in her hand, LT Loren Singer considered fate's sense of humor in wishing her formerly greatest opponent to succeed in something.

Being the bitch to a burly, tattooed female Marine named Mac was definitely not in her plans for life.

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_In memory of Svengalie._


	6. Chapter 6

Oh well, if the others managed to post something, I figured I would try to do the same. It's mostly introspection, no dialogue, some mental talking to oneself, because this is a filler chapter. But not some useless filler chapter, because it has our heroes pondering some important topics and some truths about themselves.

Hope I haven't lost you all in the time it took for this to be written.

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An hour later Harm was driving from the Admiral's house still undecided whether he should start looking for a good defence attorney for his and Loren's fraternization trial or not.

_Maybe I should just call Alison Krennick... she must have a LOT of experience in getting out of fraternization accusations._

He could clearly imagine what she'd say and that annoying, smug smile of hers. Then in that scratchy, damaged from decades of intense smoking, voice of hers she'd tell he should've accepted _her_ offers instead of playing with "little girls".

Thankfully though it was Loren's already established reputation that had saved the day and their careers.

No, really.

Chegwidden had actually said that.

His CO's lack of trust hurt a lot and made Harm wonder how or why the Admiral still didn't trust him on even such a little matter after five years.

Trust...

Harm's eyes widened when he realized just what he'd been missing.

Trust.

When a passenger gets on a bike they put a lot more trust in the driver than they would in a car. The thing is, though, that most passengers are not aware of that.

On a bike it's 100 percent, because there is no safety cage, no crumple zones, no airbags, no safety belts, no nothing between them and possible horrible death, only the driver's skill, training (if the driver even has any), road awareness, experience and luck.

The fact that LOREN SINGER was, not only willing, but eager, to go riding with him made him wonder if she realized all this.

A more realistic theory existed. Loren had last been riding years ago and that on a Harley, from what Harm could gather more or less unprotected. From having seen enough Harley riders to make a rough profile he could also confidently claim the guy she'd been with had been riding without protection too. It was a freaking wonder she was still alive!

This only previous experience was why she'd been so annoyed and exasperated over his insistence on complete protection, he had seen all too many riders who rode without gear because they felt invulnerable and immortal.

Many even believed, against all logic, common sense, physics, experiences of millions of riders who had gone down; that helmets are useless, that they don't protect. The saddest part is that that kind of riders are quite successful in passing on, not only their genes, but also their "wisdoms" and teaching new, impressionable generations falseties.

Loren's only experiences with bikes had taught her the same belief. The point was that Loren was still wearing a blue leotard under a red thong, complete with red boots and a red cape.

The question was beginning to nag Harm more and more: was Loren even aware of the trust she was placing in him? If she'd been programmed to believe by her ex that she was invincible together with her driver, she probaly didn't even realize exactly what dangers preyed on bikers on the road.

More than that, did _he _deserve the kind of trust she was placing in him? He knew all too well the realities of the road and that not even the best and best trained rider could confidently claim nothing would happen to him.

And the fact of the matter is, that at least 90 percent of four wheeled or more road users out there are blind.

There was a sign at the exit gate of Great Lakes Naval Training Center that highlighted the problematic by saying "You're now entering the most dangerous place on Earth: the public highway system."

Fact is, even though the US is a gun-lovers' and criminals' paradise, more people are killed with cars/SUVs/trucks/semis than with guns. He knew he wouldn't do anything stupid, especially not with precious cargo on board, it was _the other traffic members_ he didn't trust.

Probably the most dangerous things on the road are soccer/Super Moms who do everything from calming their brats down to talking on the phone instead of paying attention to the road. Not to mention the women who text while driving, apply their makeup, chat to their passengers (because they usually feel the need to face the person they're talking to, that means they are not paying attention to the road), etc. and then the boy racers who think the road is their private race track, or some aggressive idiots, and then of course the potential maniacs who only need one thing to set them off on a road rage rampage. There are many out there just waiting to create their own "Falling Down".

The public roads are a battlefield where there are no rules and everything's allowed, where no prisoners are taken and no mercy given, where your best friend is luck.

BUT... in the end he knew the truth. Loren was by now too fired up and eager for riding and not only would changing his mind it damage their work relationship (not to mention all the work they'd been doing on their off-duty relationship of friendship), but Harm was afraid she would go find some other way of assuaging her reawakened thirst for riding. And Harm knew there were more than enough squids and outright assholes out there willing to take a beautiful woman on their bike and not even lend a half-arsed attention to her safety. With him being the one to satisfy her wish, he would be in the position to make sure Loren was kept as safe as possible, something he honestly wouldn't trust anyone else.

And, last but not least, he'd made a promise. He never made promises he knew he wouldn't keep. Though he _was_ known for making stupid promises in the heat of the moment, still riding on adrenalin. Promises he later had the chance to regreat and beat himself up over.

Hopefully this wouldn't be another like that...

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Standing in the middle of her living room Loren looked on the results of her labour with immense satisfaction. The entire [small] apartment was sparkling clean and smelled nicely oranges, due to a perfume she created herself from self-pressed orange juice mixed with water and medical alcohol.

Sighing in relief, she rolled her shoulders and twisted her hips to loosen some of the knots and to relieve the ache in the small of her back, created by the uncomfortable positions the cleaning had demanded of her.

Deciding that a nice, hot shower would hit the spot she made a shortcut through the kitchen to start the coffee machine and then entered her blindingly white bathroom.

She didn't know what exactly had possessed her to clean more thoroughly, almost obssessively, than she usually did and that the ENTIRE apartment, everything, from top to bottom, she could literally eat off the floor now and not risk anything; but the result definitely spoke for itself.

Undressing and stuffing the clothes into the washing machine she took a second to check out any issues in the mirror. After a quick breast exam she'd been recently slacking off on, she took herself in from all the angles she could.

Sighing despondently she slapped lightly on her belly that had more of a curve than before, same as her butt and hips; ruefully remembering the long hours, all-nighters, spent on her ass for cases in the last several weeks, during which she'd wrecked additional havoc to her system by surviving on fast food instead of something healthier.

She was over 30 now and would have to start taking better care of her diet and work practices, plus get more exercise, if she wanted to continue looking good. And get into those leather pants...

_A possibility_, Loren mused as she tried and to her sadness could actually grab the excess fat on her belly, _that is looking increasingly slim._

_On the other hand, look at the man I'll be riding, that wide, hard chest and strong arms! Oops, riding __with_. Loren corrected, blushing heavily and wondering where that had come from all of a sudden.

Deciding it was better if she got on with the hygiene, lest some other uninvited lies popped up from some dark corner of her mind, she turned on the shower full blast and stepped in.

The ear-piercing shriek that immediately echoed acrosss the apartment as the ice cold water hit the sensitive skin of her entire front confirmed her mind had been successfully taken off anything in regards to Harmon Rabb, men in general and especially sex.

Jumping back out of reach she tried to catch her breath and recover from the shock her entire system had gone through, while she waited for the water to heat up.

_You stupid cow!_ she berated herself silently _That's what you get for thinking of men! They're all trouble, not worthy anything any of them! Why don't you live by what you decided on and stay away from them?_

After a stern mental talking-to, satisfied she had again banished any threat to her amibitious plans for the JAG's chair, she tested the water and, finding it satisfactory, leaned forward with her hands on the wall. Feeling the heavy beating of the hot water starting to loosen up those knots made her relax completely and emmit a pleased sigh.

10 minutes later, as she'd just finished lathering herself up, the aroma therapy side-effect of the shower-gell doing it's work, a ringing intruded on her luxurious world.

After a couple of seconds of wondering who in the world would call _her_, she thankfully remembered. Quickly rinsing herself off, she took her large, fluffy towel and wiped herself off just enough so she wouldn't drip all-over her clean floor and hurried to pick up the annoying little piece of plastic.

A minute later she was boring holes through the small black box in her hand.

_Men!_ she grumbled annoyed _Never giving a girl enough time to get ready. Five minutes out! Like the only thing we do is spray some deodorant and slap on some cologne and we're ready. He just had to call when he's almost here, couldn't have done that when he was leaving the Admiral's house... Probably would've given him a stroke or something. Well, Mr Rabb, you won't have anyone to blame but yourself you haven't given me enough time. For your sake I hope you won't be double-parking._

Studiously ignoring her silent disappointment over a missed chance to show him how well she had cleaned her apartment, Loren raced into her bedroom to quickly rub herself down with the towel and get dressed.

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_**Reviews are love.**_


	7. Chapter 7

I'm not happy with this chapter, not at all. It's been re-written over a dozen times and I kept coming back to it, then giving up, that's why the wait has been so long. The problem is, it's an important chapter and I just couldn't cut it out and continue with the rest of the story. In the end I figured getting it out is better than letting you wait for an undetermined amount of time, effectively abandoning this story, so here it is in hopes it at least passes and we can get on with it.

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_Women!_

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel Harm glanced at his watch for the fifth time and sighed again.

_Why do they always have to take so long to get ready?_

Checking again that the small Puma he'd blocked, when he'd been forced to double park after there had been no sight of Loren for a minute, was really Loren's, he glanced at his phone.

The next thing he knew it was in his hand, fingers already pressing the dials. With a tremenduous amount of self-control he forced them to stop and clear the display, before putting the small plastic box back into the center console. Inhaling deeply to calm himself he leaned back against the head-rest.

It would do no good calling to demand what the hold up was, as it would only make her even more late, what with having to waste time finding and picking up the phone and then talking to him, interrupting what she was doing, and it would probably just make her irritable.

Harm may have been oblivious to a LOT of things when it came to women, but the one thing he knew full well, the one thing he'd learned quickly in the last several months, was that an irritated Loren Singer was something to be avoided. The other part of the reason was he'd been consciously working on not getting worked up over things, especially over unimportant matters. Was probably a leftover from dating a shrink and that was as far as he was willing to go into that mess.

_With how long she's taking, I should've called the second I left the Admiral's house, maybe then she would've been on time_... were his thoughts just before the woman on his mind burst out of her building, face flushed and hair whipping around.

Startled by seeing her with her hair released, making her so less severe and haughtly than he was used to, he was a second too late to honk to let her know of his location. Blue eyes narrowing when she caught sight of the big silver monstrosity dwarfing her tiny blue Ford, she turned and jogged over. Opening the passenger door Loren frowned a litle bit when she had to climb into the seat, while Harm took a chance to marvel how approachable and attractive she looked, without that bun and in jeans and T-shirt. Then his attention was diverted when Loren put a small, black backpack on her thighs as she buckled in.

"I thought we were going to take stuff out of the store and not bring it in..." Harm fished, surprise overriding his manners, something he was sure his mother would thump him behind his ears for if she ever found out.

"It's my leather jeans, I managed to find them. I'll need them if I want to find a jacket."

Harm nodded, accepting her answer. Walking around DC in leather pants would surely attract a lot of attention and, unless it came to her job, Loren Singer didn't like the spotlight, especially not when it came to her looks.

Then again, it was a good thing. Loren could be pretty insufferable already and if she had the arrogance, sense of entitlement and urge for instant gratification (plus selfishness) that most beautiful women that know they're [physically] beautiful have (he studiously ignored that fact that he already knew one such example), she would've been a nightmare on two legs. Mix that ambition and haughtiness with sexual aggression backed up by the looks... not a good thing.

In the time he'd known her he'd never thought he'd be glad she was the way she was and it was this thought that stayed with him when she broke him out of his musings, impatient to know everything he hadn't told her yet.

"How did the talk with the Admiral go?"

Harm evaded her eyes and slowed down for an intersection "It went well enough."

"Well enough? What do you mean? What happened?" she demanded, the anxiety in her heart growing as her imagination instantly provided over a dozen different scenarios, each one worse than the previous.

Harm sighed, feeling oddly relieved he had someone to share his worries with "I explained to him what we want to do and he gave the go-ahead, so we don't have to worry about anything if someone reports us having seen us together somewhere."

Loren sensed that wasn't all.

"But?" she persisted.

Harm still tried to evade sharing everything, contradicting himself "We have to behave according to protocol at all time on duty and, to quote him, make damn well sure we don't give him any reason to throw the book at us, because he won't throw just a book, he'll dump the whole damn library on our heads!"

Loren had expected this kind of reaction, not that it left her any less anxious. To make matters worse Harm looked like there was something more, something deeper, that was unsettling him.

"That's not all." she stated with full confidence in her words.

"I don't know." his breath left him in a woosh as his shoulders slumped "I just... after five years I expected him to know me better and trust me at least a little that I wouldn't lead some illicit affair with a subordinate officer. He didn't immediately believe there was nothing going on, but I managed to persuade him. If we go on as we always have at work, we have nothing to worry about."

"Maybe I should've been the one to talk to him." Loren muttered, the continuation of the sentence 'since _you_ didn't do such a good job of it' went unsaid, but not unheard.

"Yeah, maybe you should've." Harm sent her a dirty look as he drove "Cause that way at least I wouldn't have to worry about him not really believing me. After all, sitting in the brig by the end of the day would leave me with no doubt about his state of mind. Or trust."

"Hey!" Loren lashed back, her pride wounded "I'm not completely without persuasion skills! You're not the only one who can talk people into something."

Harm nodded in acknowledgment, but countered it with his own reason "True, when you set your mind to it I've seen you work wonders, but think about it this way: how do you imagine it would look if a young, FEMALE subordinate officer came to her CO to tell him her older, male, superior officer had readily agreed into spending some private time with her, away from the prying eyes of everyone, on an activity that no-one could ever confirm, deny or control what would entail?"

Loren's paling face revealed she'd immediately caught on, but Harm felt the need to elaborate "When you're on a motorcycle you're anonymous with that helmet on your head, no-one knows who you are. And, considering no-one we personally know is into it too, there is no way an objective third party could confirm there is nothing going on. After all, we will be spending time by ourselves, with no-one around, and the only people we will meet will be strangers who won't know us. And for them, if we're really having a secret relationship, we can pretend anything, even that we're married, so if we're really having an affair, no-one could tell since we would be lying and they would be thinking it was a completely legitimate behaviour."

Loren was silent for a good minute before she finally spoke with a calm voice "I guess I didn't think about it that way, didn't realize I could've done more damage than good. Is it really that bad?"

Harm sighed, then tried to give her a smile "It's okay, you couldn't know, you don't have to live with this. Especially after Tailhook. It's just an unfortunate fact that everyone's first reaction would be to assume the woman is the victim and the man the criminal. Even with clear and indisputable proof to the opposite, there is still a good chance he'll be found guilty or, if acquitted, there will always be doubt into his innocence. It's especially bad if he's her superior, then there's 'no doubt' he's taking advantage of her and abusing his position."

"Surely it can't be that bad, can it?"

"Let's put it this way: unless she's threatened with violence or being sacked if she tells anybody, or has her own reasons that prevent her, will or should a woman hesitate to report sexual harrassement at work place?"

"No."

"Then, let's reverse this: if a man is sexually harrassed by his female boss or superior, or harrassed by a woman in general, do you think he will report her or even sue her? And expose himself to accusations of making it up and being laughed at by everyone?"

"Yeah, like it ever happens." Loren snorted derisively.

Harm looked at her sharply, then returned his eyes to the road. After a minute he countered softly "I wouldn't be so sure, Lieutenant. I know plenty of cases of men who didn't report it because they didn't want to be ridiculed and lose their credibility, authority and respect."

"What are you saying?" Loren's eyes narrowed up at him.

Harm debated silently for a couple of seconds whether to go on, then fumbled in the car's console until he found a quarter.

"Here." he pushed the dime into her hands.

"What's this?" she looked up from her hand to his eyes.

"It's yours." he said "Take it."

Loren thought about it for a second, then reluctantly put it away.

"Thanks." she said sarcastically over the invaluable riches he'd just bestowed upon her.

"Don't thank me, that's your salary. I just hired you as my lawyer, now you have to keep in confidence everything I tell you from now on."

"A quarter?" she finally uttered when she recovered from her shock at his declaration "Do you really think I'm that cheap? My hourly rates should surely be higher..."

Harm shrugged "Well, you're already getting paid by the Navy, so be happy you're even getting that. If you wanted fat paychecks you should've gone into the private sector."

Loren harumphed at that.

"Now, do you want to continue to argue over your pay do you want to hear why I just swore you over to attorney/client confidence?"

She glared at him peeved for a couple of seconds, then sighed "Lay it on me."

Harm titled his head in acknowledgment "Four years ago, when the Admiral took command, he brought with him his own Chief of Staff, a Commander Allison Krennick. It didn't take long before she started making inappropriate invitations and remarks. Invitations and remarks that were definitely unwelcome. At first I was flattered, but that soon wore off when it became clear it wasn't just innocent, harmless flirting, especially when she became even more aggressive. As she later surprisingly revealed it was because she believed I was a threat to her position and ambitions of being the future JAG. I was the JAG's rising star back then, so she was afraid I would take her job and figured that the best way to deal with me was to get control over me. With sex. Then she would be able to control, manipulate and blackmail me with my breach of the regs, effectively disabling me and securing her own climb up the ladder."

A blonde eyebrow was so high it threatened to rip the skin on her forehead "What kind of invitations and remarks?"

"Oh, from weekends for two at a private cabin to sexually-heavily laden innuendos and literally chasing me around the Admiral's desk when he wasn't in."

Loren couldn't suppress a giggle at that mental image, then sobered and stared at him in disbelief when she realized he was serious "Seriously? You're not just making this up?"

"Seriously. Aviator's honor."

"Not a Scout's?"

"No, I..." Harm hesitated, then decided he wasn't ready to tell her anything more personal, especially not about Vietnam "I had other things back then."

Seeing she was about to make a quip he gave her a mock glare "And they weren't girls."

"Why didn't you report her?" Loren demanded, furious at the breach of protocol, then immediately remember what he'd told her "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Harm agreed "My career would've effectively been over."

The grimace she wore, told him she was being forced to rethink a lot of things.

"It's not a good position men are in these days. Unless we're "asking for trouble", we have to carefully rethink everything we say to a woman unless she's a very close friend and especially if it's in a public or official setting to make sure it can't be interpreted as inappropriate and on the other hand, can't do anything if _we_ are the victims. Two weeks ago a woman in New Zealand reported a friend of hers had abducted and raped her repeatedly, even signing a written statement at the police station, repeating her claims. Eventually, with the evidence against her, she had to come out and admit she made up the rape charge! Apparently she did it only because she liked the attetion... I can imagine she's not the only example, especially not with the keg of loonies that is the US."

"You're pulling my leg!" Loren gasped, staring at him incredulously, feeling disgust at the mere idea of a woman doing that.

"Not at all." Harm shook his head in denial "Was in the NZ Herald.* Believe it or not, but in many areas of today's Western society, white adult men are discriminated. Especially in court."

Heavy silence hung between them after that, an emptiness of sound that felt so oppressive Harm had to try and break it.

"It's not easy being green." he tried for a joke, referencing that old song by Kermit, but it fell flat, neither of them in mood for a chuckle.

Sighing, Harm concluded "That's why _I_ had to talk to the Admiral and have it cleared even before it took place."

Loren nodded, now following his train of thought "Otherwise it could too easily later be used by an interested party as if you took advantage of your authority over me."

"You can still go and have a little talk with him..." Harm offered, fighting a losing battle keeping his face straight, glad to find a silver lining "You know... to really straighten everything out."

"Uh, no!" Loren hurriedly turned down his offer, glaring at him for even suggesting it "Thanks for suggestion, but you already handled it. Not sure poking a sleeping bear with a stick would be a good idea."

"I guess not." he agreed, careful to hide his smirk.

When Loren spoke again, the total and completel change in topic threw him for a second "Something that I've been meaning to ask... why do you keep saying "driver"? Isn't the driver of a motorcycle a "rider"?"

"Yes, you're right." Harm nodded when he got his bearings again and smiled her way "A bike's driver really is a rider, I just use the term "driver" to make it less confusing. Besides... I'll be _driving_ **you**, not... you know..." he trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable with the innuendo of sex in regards to them.

Then hastened with the next part to avoid another awkward moment "Some even call the operator of a motorcycle a "pilot" and operating a motorcycle as "piloting a motorcycle", but I generally refrain from using that term."

"You don't pilot a bike, _you_ pilot a Tomcat, right?" Loren grinned up at him, her good humor restored.

It was quite nice to just sit back in the comfortable seats, high above the ground and luxuriate in the pleasant heat and sun as she talked to someone whom she was slowly realising was far from one dimensional. Maybe that was why she was letting her guard down so much. Whatever it was, she wasn't about to make a habit of it, so he should appreciate it while it lasted.

"Exactly!" Harm replied as he smiled her way, satisfied when Loren smiled back and pleasantly confused over her friendly demeanor.

This pleasant atmosphere between them appealed to him, so he figured he might as well come out and say what he'd been thinking of lately "Look, er, if we're gonna spend some serious time off-duty together it'll be simpler if we drop the ranks and just go by our names. So, whenever it's just us, it's Harm."

She observed him assessingly "Harm."

Harm nodded, determined to come through with this "Yes. Plus, that way we won't attract any attention wherever we go or if we're around other people. If you call me 'sir' out of uniform and in casual ambient, it would make us stand out inappropriately."

Knowing she couldn't exactly dispute that statement, Loren agreed with a thoughtful expression as she continued gazing at him "Okay... Harm. Just don't slip up at work."

"I'll try not to." Harm grinned rakishly and looked out the window as he parked and turned off the engine "So, what do you say we go get you some gear... Loren?"

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* The case I'm talking about is quite sadly true and I'm realist enough to believe it's not the only case in the world. The only thing I made up is the timing, it was reported by that newspaper in 2010 and not in 2000.

www. nzherald. co. nz / nz/ news/ article. cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10642709&ref=rss

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_**Reviews are love.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Strong spoilers for S2's "Romanian Holiday". Don't know if they even tried, but DJE and Nanci had completely failed to suppress the chemistry between them in that ep.

In fact, in that single ep, Harm had had more chemistry with a woman than he'd had in 10 years with Mac, no matter how much he, CB and TPTB had tried to force it. Seeing that ep and all others they played together in, I don't have to wonder over the fact they're still married and in love. CB, for example, had divorced from her husband in the meantime.

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The first thing she did upon entering the shop was to make a bee-line to the nearest empty checkout. Harm stood waiting as she showed the contents of her backpack and observed as she talked, obviously explaining her intention to the person manning the till. The guy was painfully apparently interested, but Loren's expression and overall manner betrayed nothing.

Either she was completely oblivious or _very_ uninterested.

_She's too sharp an investigator not to catch it._ he finally decided and wondered over her obvious resolve not to become involved, as the recent months had revealed.

She may not have been assigned to the HQ for long, but this was a thing that had quickly stood out. Not only due to her defensive and closed-off attitude when the women of the office discussed men and relationships, but her constant stream of rebuffals to all the men who tried their luck with the classic beauty during staff nights at their favourite watering hole. Harm didn't know whether it was this unapproachable attitude of a loner she kept or the officiousness she carried that had soon had the rest of the staff give her the moniker of Ice Queen and begun to stay away. Whatever it was, she had succeeded alienating herself from her coworkers as well.

While these thoughts had ran their course she had rejoined him and together they entered the shop proper, Harm giving a silent sigh of relief as he always did when the security scanners worked properly.

The department right at the entrance carried helmets. Helmets of every quality, brand, style, size, colour, flavour...

Loren stopped in her tracks, looking around with wide eyes and breathed "Wow."

Harm smiled as he followed her gaze and nodded "This is one of the better stocked shops I've known, they also carry all the brands and models from that article I lent you. You did read it, right?"

"Yes, I did." she shot him a quelling look, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"And may I find out what you decided?" Harm hid a grin.

"After all your talk about crashing and injuries, how do you _think_ I decided?" shot back Loren, fighting hard to keep her hands off her hips.

Oh, yes, she was definitely annoyed, but that was something he'd gotten used to with her by now.

"The Z1R." Harm nodded in agreement and looked up, searching for the brand in question. It took a while to find them because there were only very few left, thankfully a par seemed to be in Loren's size.

Dropping her backpack to the floor between her feet Loren picked up the test helmet in deep red colour, checked to see whether it had a double-D ring or quick-release chin strap system and was about to try it on when Harm's hand on her forearm stopped her.

"Yes?" she demanded, turning to him, helmet half in air.

Reaching into his pocket Harm pulled out a bundle of black cloth and offered it to her. Putting the lid back on the shelf she cautiously extended a hand and took the item.

"What is it?"

"It's a balaclava." Harm explained "Put it on before you try on the helmet... who knows who had it on before you. Don't worry, it's clean."

Giving him a curteous nod she did so, adjusting the material so that it covered everything but her eyes and nose and fit her head without a wrinkle. This time she could put the lid on without interruption, starting just a tiny bit as Harm opened the visor without warning.

Either he had not seen her jump or was gracious enough to ignore it, but he gave no indication, instead he asked.

"How does it fit? Try shaking her head from left to right. If it can freely move on your noggin', then it's too big."

Doing so, Loren could feel movement "I think it's too big, I feel hits against my cheeks."

"Okay, take it off." Harm nodded and turned around, quickly retrieving another helmet. As soon as the first one was off he took it from Loren, giving her the new lid and replaced the old one on the shelf.

By the time he turned around Loren already had the head-gear on her head, shaking it, trying to ascertain the fit. Harm waited patiently for her to complete what would anywhere else be seen as manifestation of dementia.

"How about now?"

"It's nice and tight around my head, not to the point of it being unpleasant, but I definitely feel it squeezing me everywhere. I can't detect any horizontal movement."

"Okay, I'll now try vertical movement, if it's the right size and inside shape it shouldn't move either."

Taking in his hold the chin bar and the lower edge of the helmet at her neck Harm tried to move it back and forth in a see-saw movement. He didn't detect any give, but Loren would be the one to best answer that

"It's good, I think." she remarked to his interrogation "It felt solid and firm on my head, no give."

"Okay, I think we have the right size. Take it off and see which colour you like the best."

Taking the lid off and putting it back in it's place, Loren checked through the boxes of the appropriate size, finally finding the right colour pattern. Harm couldn't deny being surprised when the contender for the prickliest JAG member selected a pink and white helmet with a pink star on each side and black stripes when there'd been other choices available. He'd have expected her to either pick a red one or maybe silver, or even black, something not as markedly feminine as this. Yet, proving he was learning, he kept any comment to himself.

When Loren put her new helmet back in it's box satisfied and wanted to return the balaclava he shook his head, reaching out to gently close her hand around the fabric.

"You can keep it."

"Why would I need it?" Loren inquired confused.

"It's for the helmet to sit on your head better and to keep sweat away from the liner, so it won't stink and you won't have to constantly wash it. It'll also make sure you won't look like a crow has made a nest out of your hair." Harm grinned mischeviously.

Loren gave him a dubious look "You sure I won't be shot by cops?"

At that Harm had to laugh heartily, happy when he caught her lips curve in what could actually pass for a smile. When he recovered his composure he assured her "Not unless you intend to wear it to the bank! I think every cop knows the score if he sees someone standing near a bike with one of these on their head."

Then he deliberately looked her up and down and continued with a mischevious smirk "No matter how menacing or dangerous they may look."

To his delight Loren actually smiled at that. The gesture transformed her entire face into one of truly attractive beauty, highlighting just how breath-taking she could be if she stopped scowling for a minute.

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It was not the first time he'd known her that his mind wondered years back to the woman with the same face and figure, but who's attractive features had been smiling most of the time he'd known her.

The first time he'd laid eyes on LT Loren Singer he'd thought he was seeing a ghost and almost had a heart attack. The next thought had been that _she'd _somehow survived and had now infiltrated the Navy on the trail of her new contract.

But then his senses had returned as well as the memory of holding her in his arms as her life had drained away. Numbed by blinding pain the light in her spectacular blue eyes had died as she looked up into his own, gasping her last breath, desperate fingers of a small hand clutching at his jacket. Then relaxing. For the last time. Even as he'd pulled her small cooling frame into his chest he'd hoped to detect a heart-beat - for naught.

He'd barely held himself back from punching the agent who'd taken the shot. Instead he'd sent him a glare and said only "She was about to give in", then carried her to the arriving medical team.

He'd been there when they'd buried her in a small grave in the poor corner of a local cemetery, having fought a hard battle to get her even that. Originally the CIA had intended to just scatter her ashes at some random location, but he'd stood up against it, no doubt raising many a suspicion. She may have been an assassin, but she'd still been a person and there was no proof she'd wished to be scattered out of human memory. There _had to_ be something left behind as proof that she HAD existed. Maybe he'd gotten too close, but she didn't deserve the kind of oblivion would've sentenced her to, not even being remembered to have lived once the few people she'd come into contact with had forgotten her. Her modest headstone simply said "Meghan O'Hara" as neither true name nor date of birth were known and Harm visited it at least once per year, a penance for his own failure.

The what-ifs and regrets, over losing, over failing, the woman who'd been started to worm herself into his life would haunt him for a long time to come.

He had to fight a long while to keep the what-ifs at bay whenever his mind drifted over to Meghan, which it had frequently in the months following her senseless death. Before that day he'd never would've believed it possible, but he had actually been and still was sad an assassin had been killed.

Okay, so he'd never wanted Alexi to die, but he hadn't wanted Meghan to die either. It had been a hopeless situation and one that had been pre-determined a long time ago, there had been no way to avert the disaster.

Still, he should've noticed! He should've seen the signs, check up on her story of being a journalist, especially with the timing of his latest assignment, find out more about her. He'd failed in his job.

He clearly remembered what a former member of the SAS that had been part of the first anti-terrorist unit in the world had written about the job of a bodyguard: if you need to use your weapon, you've already failed. No matter what the outcome. 90 percent of successful bodyguarding is in planning even before you have your client in your protection.

He could've prevented it all, maybe he could've even persuaded her to give up her job.

Maybe she would've even listened to him.

And maybe, just maybe, they could've had a chance for a life together.

There had been that moment just before the bullets had hit, he was absolutely sure he'd gotten through to her and she was about to lower her SMG, but then the bullets had struck and it was all in vain, all over.

She'd died in his arms.

He'd never thought it possible, but he mourned an assassin, a paid killer.

A killer.

Was he any different?

Did he not kill people himself? How many did he have on his conscience? It was the irony of life that Clark Palmer of all people knew the answer.

Hadn't he dropped bombs, bombs that had probably killed innocents?

Was he thus not the same as she, only that someone else gave him the orders to kill, in the line of serving his country's and it's ruling oligarchy's private interests?

Harm was sure she'd believed in the job she'd done, just as he believed in the job he was doing. They'd both served their own countries and their own beliefs, convinced they were doing the right thing, each convinced it was them who was doing the right thing, while the other was in the wrong, that the other's intentions were evil.

When it came down to bare bones, weren't they the same?

Just two pawns of people who play with the lives of billions?

Weren't their superiors the same? Same players, same rules, same motivations, just on opposing sides? Were they even on opposing sides? Maybe they were on the same side...

Maybe their ultimately top bosses were even old friends, playing a friendly game of chess with other people's lives, countries and the world's entire economy?

Hadn't he and Meghan thus been the same, same line of work, same people, even perhaps the same morals, just on different sides?

Who was right? Who was wrong?

The answer was simple: they were both right and they were both wrong. There is no good and there is no evil, everything is just different shades of gray and different viewpoints that have the same value in the eyes of their proponents.

Meghan's side was viewed as evil by Harm's side, but wasn't Harm's side viewed as evil by Meghan's as well?

How is any of his work for the Agency or even the Navy, much less Webb's work, any different than what Meghan had done? Same goals, same principles, same methods, same ethics, same rewards, same superiors, same chessboard players, just different flags.

Just pawns in a game that were never given a chance to become anything but pawns, all their steps, even lives, pre-determined by someone else, never given a chance to stop playing, cross the field and kiss and make love instead of war and kill.

Had they gotten along so well only because Meghan had hoped to get to her target through him or had they really had that kind of chemistry?

_Had she even known_ he was tasked with protecting Alexi when she'd moved in next door? With how quickly she'd moved in after Harm had received the assignement he sincerely doubted it, it had been too soon, him being appointed to the mission had been a secret until too recently. Her behavior had to have been natural.

The air had sizzled between them, every look a wealth of promise, every word had an intonation of seduction and future possibilities. They had barely been able to draw a breath whenever they talked, much less look away.

Senseless.

It was all so senseless.

A life wasted, a life that had had so much potential, that could've offered so much.

And now here was another woman with the exact same face, yet so different. There was no way Meghan had played a role all the time, she'd been a fun, playful person when she'd allowed herself to be; had been that way most of the time around him, even if just for her job.

Loren was so completely different.

In the months he'd known her, only recently was the first time he'd seen her smile. Cautious, as if she was unused to doing it.

Like a frightened turtle, warily peeking out of it's shell to make sure the danger had passed.

And what got through those deep trenches, mine fields, anti-tank barriers, machine-gun nests, field artillery and anti-tank pieces, was this. Motorcycles.

Didn't he thus then have the right, maybe even the duty, to encourage and help the person hidden deep behind those embattlements to come out, have a breath of fresh air and start thriving?

He'd failed Meghan, he would be damned to all hell if he failed Loren too!

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

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	9. Chapter 9

This chapter has been reposted since it was edited to remove some inconsistencies that I must thank **byrhthelm** and **Saissa** for pointing out. I edited the chapter appropriately.

To answer **Saissa**'s review (of the old version) since I'm sure it made others wonder as well: no, it has nothing to do with rape or transferring responsibility at all! What I tried (and failed miserably) to explain is that Harm had conditioned himself to not think of military women as sexual beings, ie to not give himself a chance to develop attraction for a woman he's serving with and thus be compelled into fraternization (made this issue plainer in this version). As said, it didn't work 100 percent (Mac and Jordan), but Loren (whom he'd least expected to surprise him in this regard) blindsided him for the stated reasons. As for **uniforms themselves**: truthfully said when writing this (months ago) I completely forgot summer uniforms, that ARE more flattering on either gender, and had only winter uniforms in mind. A very good case in point being Jen's uniform at the end of "Dream Team". As I am not privy to the Navy's reasons for the styling of their clothing I can't really say why they do what they do, but I'm absolutely certain sexual assaults or avoiding responsibility for them is not one of the reasons. Especially not after Tailhook that was a very big shock through the entire service and cost a lot of innocents their careers and freedoms and was nothing but a witch hunt (something that the "victims" themselves insisted - air-quotes because they didn't see themselves as victims either).

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><p>"You know, had I not seen the raw data of the test results I wouldn't have dared to buy such an inexpensive helmet." commented Loren, studying the large box in the trolley Harm had appropriated "After all your safety talk and the internet searching I wouldn't have dared to consider it safe enough."<p>

"I know." Harm sympathised "Somehow they seemed to have just hit the right mixture by a sheer stroke of luck. I get the impression the helmet manufacturers are still wandering in the dark a little on this, as there doesn't seem to exist a set recipee for a safe helmet, but just a work of luck to hit the right combinations. That's the only way I can explain to myself why a lid for less than 100 bucks offers more protection than helmets that cost 700. Or why a reputed manufacturer will create one safe helmet and then it's newer model will be less safe. I think this is an area that's still subject to a lot of experimentation, so the rules haven't been uncovered yet. Which just proves that not everything inexpensive is always a bad choice."

"And not everything expensive is automatically a good choice." Loren finished Harm's thoughts, a small smile emerging.

"Exactly. Okay, let's go see if they have the rest of the gear for you."

"What's next?"

"Shouldn't I ask you that?" Harm grinned mischeviously. Looking up at him and noticing his expression Loren rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin of her own.

"Right. Jackets." she decided.

"This way, madam."

It wasn't hard following Harm's tall stature through all the clothes racks and shelves even when they became separated for a second. For those fleeting moments Loren felt like a kitten following her mother through grass tall enough for only the raised tail be visible.

Even before they stopped Loren knew they'd arrived at the location due to the scent of leather wafting in the air. She took in full lungs, having always loved the smell.

"Well, here we are." Harm intoned unnecessarily, motioning towards the items hanging from their hangers.

"Are you sure these will fit me?" came the dry rejoinder.

"Sure, why not?" Harm asked absetmindedly "I'm there some are the correct size."

His eyes falling on his companion giving him a pointed look, they widened and his ear-tips reddened as he realized his mistake.

Leading her away from the man section to the correct one he added in embarrassment, this time eyes on the female versions of his previous findings "These should fit."

Loren bit her tongue to prevent something acerbic from leaving it and sour the pleasant atmosphere between them, instead choosing to mutely start perusing the offerings.

"I'll be right back, just going to find a back protector for you." Harm declared, grateful for being left off the hook "Don't forget that the jacket must have hard protectors on elbows and shoulders, avoid the soft stuff."

Quickly running his eyes over her the length of her spine to judge the appropriate size, he nodded as he committed the picture to memory and moved away.

Two minutes later he was back, with something that to Loren looked like a very flat backpack, to his immense surprise finding her already waiting for him before the changing room. After a brief description and demonstration on how to put it on, he handed the item over and watched his blond co-worker disappear behind the door. Experience had him finding a seat to wait for his friend rather than stay on his feet for god knew how long.

While Loren wasn't fast, she certainly didn't take as long as some of the women he'd known, for example Jordan.

When the door opened Harm was for one second sure he'd just made a fool of himself by waiting in front of the wrong cabin. Then he caught the familiar features and the blond hair and his brain shut down as she turned to close the door.

_Good god almighty!_

Loren... In. Black. Leather!

His jaw was on the ground, tongue rolling out like a red carpet and drool was pooling in rivers around his feet. Through all the planning and all the talk he'd completely forgotten to consider the side-effect of what they were aiming for, so he was caught unprepared by something that had been a secret long time favourite of his - beautiful women in motorcycle leathers.

He was SOOOOO taking back whatever joke he'd ever made about blondes and leather!

The contrast between her shiny bright hair and the midnight-black cow skin with patches of dark red lace was striking and all the more alluring.

The leather was supple and soft and did nothing to hide her femininity. Besides the obligatory different cut to accommodate for one of the most delightful differences to male physiology, the style itself easily indicated this was not made for men. Small red lace or flower like designs woven into the cow skin, the smaller size of the jacket, the two gentle purposely tailored convexities in the chest area to insure more comfort and the deeper curve of the waist were obviously meant to make this piece of safety gear more feminine. The lower part of the ensemble was even more breathtaking and was seriously threatening Harm's blood pressure.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Loren Singer had a figure!

He hadn't known that before.

Honestly.

At the start of his service Harm had conditioned himself to blindness to the femininity of the women he served with in order to avoid developing attraction and thus be compelled into fraternization. As a result of this conscious decision he no longer viewed military women as women, but as fellow sexless service-members. Unfortunately it didn't work all the time and the only time he slipped in that he ended up with a bruised heart. Oh, there was one other case of slipping and that one resulted not just in a bruised heart, but also a banged-up car.

The wake-up call Loren had just played on him was quite rude because of that, in the league of a bucket of ice cold water (with chunks of ice thrown in for good measure) splashed on someone sleeping deeply.

Twisting her body to check herself out from all angles in the large mirror Harm was lucky enough to again be presented with the sight of her leather-clad derriere and he took the opportunity to admire this amazing work of art.

"Hmm." murmured Loren as she looked at herself from several angles, then tried to stretch to check the fit of the jacket. Making Harm's breath hitch as she bent slightly forward and thrust her nicely rounded behind out at him.

"Comm... Harm, what do you think?" came suddenly Loren's throaty voice as she considered her selection.

x

_**Reviews are love.**_


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you guy for your continuous support!

**Guest**: best advice I can give you is to google "motorcycle back protector", all the websites will explain it better than I could with this limited AN space and even provide pictures of various styles and models, something I can't due to ffn restrictions. Suffice to say, back protectors are an excellent idea and are even a requirement for attending track days at race tracks.

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><p>Harm did his best to regain his composure on a moment's notice, having to forcefully tear his eyes and mind away from the delicious leather-clad piece of perfection. Having been surrounded with beautiful women most of his adult life was helpful.<p>

"Hm, does it feel too tight or is it still comfortable?"

"Well." Loren finally answered his question thoughtfully "It's tight at the chest, but I guess that's because I've got both protectors in at the same time. I would have to remove the one that came with the jacket. Other than that, it more like follows the lines of my body rather than restricts. It's a reassuring tightness rather than uncoformtable, the kind you get from a really good fitting sports-bra. I especially like the fit at the waist, shoulders and the length of the sleeves. On the topic of sleeves... I think there's something wrong."

"Like what?" he asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"When I relax my arms like this." she did so "they're not straight, they're bent inside, like an ape."

Harm's eyes flashed with understanding "Oh, that. Don't worry, it should be that way. Most jackets have pre-curved sleeves for more comfort. It's the same with gloves and their fingers and goes especially for sportbike one-piece suits. Those are entirely sewn so that their natural position is the one of sitting on a sportbike."

Harm took a cautious step forward, the icy blue eyes following his every move warily.

Stopping, he decided to explain to put her at ease, so he gestured towards her jacket and asked quickly "Does it have a zipper around the hem?"

Sending him a last measuring look, Loren wordlessly ran down the front zipper and raised the lower part of the jacket.

"Yeah, it does." running her fingers all around to make sure, she finally nodded decisively as she looked back up at him "Why?"

Instead of answering he posed another question "These are your old pants, I presume?"

Loren, nodded, repeating her question "They are. Why?"

_Because they're the hottest thing I've ever seen. And the fact that you can still wear them after __so long __blows my mind away._

"Because you can find a leather repair shop and have them sew the other half of the zipper, that you get with the jacket, around the pants' waist. Then the jacket and the pants can be zipped together, that way they'll keep your entire torso safe in a crash and protect your kidneys from wind and cold."

The smaller woman nodded thoughtfully.

"It would also be a good idea to pick up a couple of CE protectors for hips and knees to have them sewn onto the pants as well. They're very inexpensive, especially when you compare them to possible medical bills. From what I hear, shattered knees are painful..."

That talk again. Loren crossed her arms over her chest, shifted her weight to one leg and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, as she growled, giving him a leveled glare.

"You know, your constant talk of crashing, injuries, hospitals and so on is not really all that confidence inspiring. If you go on I'll start having misgivings of riding with you!"

Harm winced and spread his arms helplessly "Sorry, I don't mean to scare you. I just want you to know the score and be geared up appropriately. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best and all that. It shouldn't be a novelty to you, though."

"True." she grimaced in remembrance "The Navy _is _ big on that. I just have to remember basic training with all the drills we had."

"It took the Navy the _Forrestal_ to finally start thinking this way, and a catastrophe, especially one of such magnitude, is the last thing _we _need on a bike." Harm remarked, suppressing a shiver as the image of their own possible _USS Forrestal_ intruded upon his consciousness.

Harm silently went over the plan again. While her helmet was top notch and the jacket was pretty good too, the rest of the stuff Loren would be wearing for now, the pants, boots and gloves, were just enough to satisfy a safety minimum for modern traffic, but not much more. He was all too aware she thought he was going overboard and was setting his gear demands too high.

Yet, in his own opinion he was compromising more than was smart. HE would be responsible for her life after all. Still able to remember what it was like to live in DC on an O3 salary he knew he couldn't demand of Loren to buy the kind of gear he _now_ deemed acceptable. She would definitely balk at the cost and probably look for someone to give her rides without demanding she spends so much money on gear, which would mean a lot of unnecessary danger for her. If she was riding with him he could at least guarantee her driver was operating the motorcycle responsibly, with her safety foremost in mind. The fact that she was willing to spend around 400 bucks just for the admissions fee to ride with him, revealed just how much she wanted this.

Hopefully as, or if, they rode more, she would herself start to feel the desire to upgrade her lacking equipment. Fashion leather, under which most cruiser clothing could be counted, is too thin and usually has no protectors, especially the pants. Considering the strength of the material and level of protection it's also of inferior quality to real motorcycle leather. She would need dedicated motorcycling leather pants, preferrably touring leathers, the toughest and thickest leather around. Further, boots with ankle bone protection and some better gloves. She now had an excellent helmet, the safest on the market, and a good jacket, so was covered in that regard quite well.

As oblivious as Harm could be at times, this time at least it wasn't escaping him he'd committed himself with his promise to spend entire days in Loren's company in quite tight proximity, for a foreseeably large number of years.

Even if in a platonic way, this was the first time he'd made a longterm promise for a relationship to a woman. He had promised, and meant it, she would come first, before any woman he possibly got involved with later when it came to spending his time riding. The severity and danger of that kind of a potential minefield did not escape him, yet it was something that nebulous significant other would have to accept from the start. Either accept or look for love somewhere else. Promises are not something Harm intended to break.

He would, in fact, be spending more time with her than he ever had with any woman, except his mother. Not even Mac had had the "honour" of his presence as much as Loren was about to.

LT Loren Singer was still largely an unknown variable. While she'd proven herself as someone unpleasant and not a good idea for company over the last several months, there were obviously depths to her she held a closely guarded secret. Depths she held only him in high enough regard to give a sneak-peek.

Harm wondered what was hiding in there and what he would discover. Yet spending a lot of hours with the woman whom everyone but very few at HQ avoided or openly disliked (sadly that was not an exaggeration) and who had been trying even for him at times; it was the side-effect of spending so much time with her that had him worried.

While he had promised Chegwidden this was only about bikes and nothing untoward would happen, he wasn't so sure.

And THAT was what kept him up at night.

He was not blind, he knew both he and Loren were quite attractive people, who couldn't deny that about the other. If they spent so much time together, from talking to being in physical contact, and didn't end up killing each other, chances were they'd either end up having sex at least once or fall in love.

Frankly, as attractive as Loren was, Harm didn't want that. He was just beginning to move on from Meg and the whole mess with Mac and the last thing he needed or wanted were complications arising from feelings or even a relationship with another woman.

Much less did he want the issues stemming from getting involved with someone from the same command. Even worse: the woman being of lower rank. The rumors would've been damaging for both of them.

It was nothing personal against Loren, he just didn't want the problems.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love.<strong>_


	11. Chapter 11

I'm a man of my word and since T-man started posting his amazing Gill story (go read and review NOW!) that we had hammered out months ago and threw ideas around constantly, here is my contribution. It doesn't even begin to approach the awesomeness of "A Friendly Demonstration", but it'll have to do.

Title changed from "Let's Go For a Ride" to a simple "Let's ride". Works better, no?

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"So you've decided on this one?" Harm asked to get the conversation flowing again.

Looking pensively down herself Loren gave it a few seconds thought, then turned her head to study the rest of the offerings. Deciding this was the prettiest of the bunch, she then nodded "Yeah, this is the one."

Taking it off she put it back on the hanger, this time not protesting when Harm relieved her of it to dump it in the trolley, followed by the back protector.

"Okay, then, only one more thing and we're done. Gloves."

Harm couldn't blame her for looking relieved, the total was now nearly 300 bucks.

"Are they really necessary?" Loren demanded, stopping to put her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. The fact that she had to tilt her head up so much it gave her a crick in the neck annoyed her even more.

Harm sighed, his eyes softening "You'll thank me when we get caught out by the rain, which _will_ happen. Ever experienced what strong rain feels at 80 mph on naked skin?"

Loren had to give a reluctant "No."

"It's like someone is shooting needles at your hands. And if it's hail you can end up with broken finger bones. Not to mention they're usually the first part to make contact with the ground... A good pair of gloves are cheaper than a visit to the ER and then having to deal with an angry Admiral."

Trailing after her tall coworker, Loren gave a mental sigh.

_He's really going overboard with this. He should... umpf... Where the heck did this wall come from?_ she wondered as she rubbed her nose, then froze as realization seeped in. This was no wall.

"Hey!" she protested "What's the big idea? You could've given a little warning before you stopped on a dime!"

"Sorry." came the apology from above as the wall slowly rotated to face her.

"Loren?" his thoughtful tone immediately drew her blue eyes upward and had the sires flaring "How much did you like riding?"

Giving him a glower she huffed "The amount I'm willing to spend to satisfy your conditions should sufficiently answer that."

"I would apologize if your well-being wasn't my only concern and motive, but then I wouldn't deserve you on the back." was his unrepentant reply "Anyway, if it means that much, what do you think of spending a little more now to save a lot more later?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded crossly, having exhausted her patience for his games.

In response Harm took a step to the side and swept his hand out. Loren followed it's direction with her eyes to a row of leather suits. The front example was a black/white colour combination with Chinese dragons and other motives in black.

"It has removable and washable liner, double stitching, kevlar protectors on all the most vulnerable areas... you wouldn't need to buy them additionally and have them sewn onto your pants, so you could save some money in that regard. Because it's already made to fit together it would also be a more comfortable fit and safer construction. It's an excellent deal."

The "CLEARANCE! LAST YEAR'S MODEL - 60 PERCENT OFF!" sign was hanging around the hanger's neck proclaiming the suit had been drastically reduced in price. All in all, 'gorgeous' was the word that immediately popped into Loren's head as she looked at it. Yet, there was one problem.

"That's more than the jacket." she finally said softly.

"It is." Harm agreed, nodding, unknowingly rumbling lowly right by her ear, sending shivers down the small woman's back "But only a tiny bit more than this jacket, protectors and labour to have them and the zipper sewn onto your pants would cost together."

Any other time if trying to convince a woman into a set of clothes he'd appeal to her possible vanity, imply that in these clothes she would look even better, but with Loren he held his tongue. With her it would have just the opposite effect, backfiring on him in a spectacular manner. That's why he went the route he knew would work... Loren's weak side, power and money. Or, in this case, just money.

"And not only would you save money now with getting much better gear, but also later because you wouldn't have to upgrade if you decided to get better pants after you got soaked a couple of times. The kind of leather your old jeans are made of drinks liquid like a sponge. Almost all modern leather suits are water-proof..." he let off suggestively.

Pulling back he stayed silent, studying her closely as she mulled it through. It would be tight going there for a while, she would probably need to cook more to reduce the costs rather than have it ordered, but thankfully she made enough to be able to afford better, safer things than the absolute minimum. Many people were a lot less fortunate, she knew that full well.

"Okay. But first I have to check if they even have my size and how it fits."

The smile that took over Harm's lips and his eyes affected Loren even against her will. He quickly went to put the jacket she'd selected earlier back in it's place and returned to Loren who was already moving the heavily-laden hangers aside to find the correct size.

She must've found the right one because she stopped perusing and took a moment to study it. Reaching with one arm over her shoulder to grab the leather, Harm hid a smirk when Loren jumped a little, not having known he was already back.

"Does it pass?" he asked teasingly.

Taking the suit off the rack Harm held it in the air in front of them both as he stood behind her and turned it to see the back as well.

The leather had been excellently treated and was smooth, smoother than the first jacket's. It was also thick as it should be, well padded, double stitched, and, upon checking, the protectors turned out the high quality hard variety instead of the cheap soft ones. The inner lining was the removable mesh kind, which was always a plus since then it could be washed. Always a plus in summer due to the inevitable sweating. The sleeves were perforated to allow cooling, which would be easy to negate in colder seasons with the yellow warning jacket with 3/4 sleeves he had lying around and would serve well during the hotter months. He nodded approvingly at the presence of the hump on the upper back, it would minimise turbulence caused by her body as it carved the wind and insure a much more harmonious flow of the air behind her.

The jacket had few pockets as most sportbike riders used either their bikes' storage compartments or waist-bags to store keys and wallets and the like.

The collar on this one was low and soft in order not to interfere with the helmet because the bikes for which these suits were made had much more aggressive positions and thus helmets were farther down on the neck. The first jacket had been a touring jacket and thus the collar was higher and stiffer because touring-bike riders don't need to push their helmets back on their forehead to see the road.

The pants themselves were leather except for the groin and thighs' insides and obviously made to fit perfectly. Just below the knees, on the outside of the legs, were two large elliptical soft-velcro patches, ready for the knee-sliders to be velcroed on them.

This suit had obviously been made for the more sportily inclined ladies, something that would work quite well on his bike. He definitely approved.

x

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	12. Chapter 12

Finally satisfied the suit passsed his safety checks Harm turned around to hand it over to Loren, who'd put some space between them, only to discover she was staring at him through narrowed eyes, lips pressed into a thin line, clearly far from amused over the way he'd just bullied his way in and appropriated the suit.

Holding out her arm she silently demanded he give her the leathers in question, muttering sarcastically when he reached out for her to take "Thank you."

Those flashing blue depths changed immediately when Harm released his hold, widening in surprise as her outstretched arm proved unprepared for the sheer weight of the leather. As it was she barely managed to avoid cleaning the floor with her new suit, stopping her arm's descent only at waist-level.

"Ooof. It's heavy." she grunted, lifting it back up again and moving her arm so the suit was hanging over her shoulder in a reverse fireman's carry, her fingers white-knuckled as they held the hanger from inside "How on Earth am I supposed to walk around in this thing? It must weigh a ton!"

"Don't worry about it, a ride or two and you won't even feel it anymore." Harm waved his hand dismissively.

"Somehow I doubt that." she muttered to herself, her doubtful stare almost penetrating him.

"Unzip the two parts first. First put on the pants and then the jacket, it'll be easier that way."

Loren was just about to snap back that she'd been dressing herself for decades when he disarmed her with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry. I tend to get carried away."

Deciding letting him get away with it would shorten the time she would be carrying the heavy suit she just nodded silently and made her way back to the cabin.

While Loren was changing into her future-maybe leathers Harm looked around the female part of the store in hunt for a seat. Sitting down with a grateful and relieved grunt he surprised realized he was the only one. While in any regular clothes store he would've inevitably found himself with a companion in suffering, the man laden down with bags and with a mixture of a tortured and bored out of his mind expression on his face (it never failed to baffle him why those women didn't just let their men do their own thing instead of dragging them along, it wasn't like they had to be attached at the hip all the time, each pursuing their own interest in a store wouldn't mean the end of a relationship), there was no-one.

He quickly remembered the distinction: in this store guys didn't need to waste time on any benches and be bored because here their women were trying out stuff for a shared interest, thus the men were actively involved in the hunt for "dresses". Either that or they just browsed what interested them while their women tried on new clothes.

_Maybe more couples should ride, share something like this. _went his thoughts as he looked around idly, appreciating the nature of the store.

Not only because it was about his dear sport, but also because here he didn't have to deal with anything from angry CO's, to pissy coworkers, to oggling women to flirty salesladies. It was a refreshing change from grocery stores where he always felt like he had a target painted on his back. With perhaps the word "sucker" written underneath.

When Loren again exited the dressing room minutes later, Harm didn't even realise for the first 15 seconds who it was. Instead he couldn't help but admire the beautiful woman looking for a mirror until it struck him like a bolt of lightning that he was oggling his coworker.

Then had to wonder for a second why was he torturing himself with insisting on leathers instead of Cordura. With both parts of the suit having been specifically made to go with one another, the whole ensemble looked a lot more harmonious than the previous and was made to fit the female figure a lot closer than what she'd tried on before. In consequence, it also emphasised her physical attributes to an even higher degree than her old pants. These fit her tight and snug, advertising everything from her widely flared and nicely rounded, but tight and firm buttocks, the way her hips narrowed into her tiny waist, to the depression of the small of her back just above them...

Harm was completely taken and if that low whistle and impressed murmurs in several different voices meant anything, he wasn't alone in his appreciation.

Loren blushed and glared at her admirers, who failed to be intimidated and just gave her a thumbs-up. "Hot!" was one of the descriptions used and definitely one Harm agreed with whole-heartedly, just as he agreed with that guy's buddy: "Nothing sexier than a beautiful woman in form-fitting race leathers."

"Well." he took up humorously as he approached her "I don't think that after that you still need my opinion."

This time it was he who her death-rays were aimed at, but yet again they failed to turn their target into a pile of ash.

"I think it looks good." Harm affirmed, carefully hiding his amusement from his voice "How do you feel?"

Loren thought for a second, taking a chance to do some movements before she answered "Pretty good. Better than with that other set."

Harm's "Told you so!" went unappreciated, but for one second he was sure he saw a quick up-tug of her lips.

"Can you move in it?"

"Actually, I can." she said with some note of surprise "That other jacket and my old pants actually felt stiff and too tight compared to this. I think I could even bend over enough to touch the tips of my toes."

Harm nodded and stood back silently for a couple of minutes, watching Loren perform in front of a full-length mirror what would otherwise be quite a demented version of gymnastics.

After checking there was still enough space in the jacket for a turtleneck and a fleece in case of colder weather, there was only one thing left to know.

"Well, what do you think?"

It made Loren's eyes lower to the suit as she stared pensively at it for almost half a minute, clearly weighing the pros and cons and if it was possible.

Finally she looked back up at him "I'll take it. I'll be eating bread and water for a month, but I'll take it."

Harm nodded "The bill won't be small, but it's probably the best long-term investment you've made in a while. And it is an investment."

"Hopefully." Loren replied and Harm considered asking what she meant, but decided to leave it be.

With the decision made Loren backtracked for the cabin and Harm for his seat. But after a couple of minutes, longer than previously, Harm started wondering what was taking her so long. When another minute went by he got up and approached the door he'd seen her enter earlier.

Clearing his throat he called out lowly.

"Loren, everything okay in there?"

"No, sir."

Noticing the words had been ground out through gritted teeth, his eyebrows shot up. What had happened in this short a time for her mood to sink so abruptly?

"What's wrong?"

There was a short silence, before her voice came through, hesitant in her embarrassement "I can't get the pants off."

Harm's lips twitched, but he stopped himself just in time. This was LT Singer, a more or less unknown quantity, especially an unknown in regards to a sense of humor. While she _had_ been thawing out in his presence recently, they were no way close enough for him to make a joke about her figure or putting on weight. Last woman that he'd known he could've gotten away with it had been Meg.

"Why not?" he felt was the best question, neutral enough that wouldn't get him in trouble for implying _any_thing.

"It's sticking to my skin." came the frustrated growl, followed by a woosh of air that made Harm clearly imagine Loren blowing the hair out of her face in irritation.

It took a couple of seconds for Harm to realize the cause and when it did he wanted to facepalm right there. How could he have forgotten about that part?

"Aha, got it!" came suddenly a triumphant chortle from behind the door, upon which Harm decided putting a little space between himself and the cabin was a good idea.

It took a few more minutes for her to redress and put the suit back together, but then she emerged a little sweatier and more flushed than before. A look, Harm decided, that looked quite good on her.

Relieving her of the heavy burden and placing it in the trolley, Harm quirked his eyebrow and grinned "Ready to blow this joint?"

The look she sent him revealed she wasn't relieved just in regards to the heavy suit.

x

_**Reviews are love.**_


	13. Something important to say

Dear friends.

It's been a year since I posted anything and I'm sorry for getting your hopes up with this update, only to dash them with what I'm going to say.

A lot has happened in these 12 months, I've graduated and immediately started a fulltime job, the last sucking any creativity and drive for writing out of me.

While I had made attempts to get back to writing I simply no longer possessed the concentration as the 3 hours of my-time I had after coming home and before going to sleep were usually spent in a daze in the warmth of my room in front of my PC.

Disillusioned with the state of life here and poor future prospects I decided to make probably the biggest gamble of my life and throw it all away in order to pursue a lifelong dream. I won't have an easy start in my new life, there will be a hell of a lot of adjustments required of me, but I believe the rewards, spiritual more than material, will be MUCH more than adequate. And IF I decide to return to my country at some point I will be in a much better position for a life deserving of a human being than I am presently.

Thus what I'm going to say next is not going to thrill anyone wanting an update anytime soon. As I'm moving my entire life out of my country, I can't foresee getting seriously back to writing for the remainder of the year at least. I may drop in with a short standalone or an occasional update. I don't believe you'll ever know just how much I regret leaving this fic in it's current condition, especially as the topic and the pairing are so close to my heart. Besides to knowing myself all too well the disappointment of getting invested in a story only for the author to abandon it and thus never getting to find out the ending.

Perhaps more important than that, I don't want to be one of those authors who just vanish without explanation, never to be heard of again, leaving the friends in uncertainty over their fate, that's why I'm posting this.

The seven years I spent as part of ffnet community were enriching. Of course it wasn't all sunshine and roses, but the good easily out-balanced the bad. I've met a lot of people, made friends, even the kind who have made a lasting impact on my life. I won't forget not a single one of you, from the friends who were with me even before I started posting here to the people who introduced themselves just recently.

Thus I would like to thank you all for being part of my life for so long and from getting to know people from so many different walks of life, backgrounds and even cultures, giving me a broader horizon than I would've had otherwise. I hope our acquaintance was at least as positive for you as well.

Until the next time,

VisualIDentificationZeta


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